


Through the Silence

by ishippeditovernight (sonofabitch_awesome)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ''you save yourself or you remain unsaved'' - alice sebold, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Castiel and Mental Health Issues, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean and Mental Health Issues, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Human Castiel, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Personal Growth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Self-Reflection, Suicidal Thoughts, The Cas and Metatron tag is not relationship, love alone cannot save you tho, minor Gabriel/Kali - Freeform, that is the abuse tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 21:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 48
Words: 90,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/ishippeditovernight
Summary: As an abuse survivor and someone juggling depression, anxiety, and family issues, Castiel Novak isn't looking for new friends right now, let alone a relationship. And as for Dean Winchester? He's too busy trying to keep up on bills and can't find time to sleep, let alone process the chasm between him and his family.One strange night involving a rescue from a bar fight and recovery in an ER later, their lives are both forever altered.Separately, Cas and Dean each have broken pieces, fragments from their past fallen along the way, but somehow two half-formed sections can fit better together-- and they can sew the missing pieces back.





	1. Notes

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes**  
>  Huge thank you to my artist Deancebra and her amazing art <3 Thank you so, so much for everything!  
> You can see her masterpost [here](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com/private/167452899888/tumblr_ozd6f6f5zL1wbqq9u). <3  
>    
> Since there are a fair number of sensitive issues in this story, I wanted to be sure and let people know and warn for them before each chapter. If I've missed any, though, I apologize and I will fix it as soon as I can. Just let me know. <3  
>   
> By the way, I did not realize just how many times I used people eating as a way to pass the time in scenes until I was too far into the story, and I'm sorry for that. *blushes deep red*  
>    
> CW: abuse  
> .  
> .  
> Cas's abuser is mentioned, and there is a very brief flashback near the end of the story where Cas remembers him, but he does not appear onscreen otherwise (besides being discussed a few times). Also, I used the Non-con tag for the past abuse, but there is no _current_ rape/noncon that occurs within the confines of the present setting of the story.  
>   
>  This story takes place between the time of spring 2007 to spring 2008, so not nearly as many people have Netflix, and everyone still has flip phones and whatever. To get the ages thing out of the way now: Cas is 21; Dean is 26 (I had to adjust his birthyear to 81) when the story starts out.  
>   
> Finally, although it's rated E, most of the story is M except for one scene. I wanted to be thorough, though.

Notes  
Huge thank you to my artist Deancebra and her amazing art <3 You can see her masterpost [here](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com/private/167452899888/tumblr_ozd6f6f5zL1wbqq9u). <3

Since there are a fair number of sensitive issues in this story, I wanted to be sure and let people know and warn for them before each chapter. If I've missed any, though, I apologize and I will fix it as soon as I can. Just let me know. <3

By the way, I did not realize just how many times I used people eating as a way to pass the time in scenes until I was too far into the story, and I'm sorry for that. *blushes deep red*

CW: abuse  
.  
.  
Cas's abuser is mentioned, and there is a very brief flashback near the end of the story where Cas remembers him, but he does not appear onscreen otherwise (besides being discussed a few times). Also, I used the Non-con tag for the past abuse, but there is no current rape/noncon that occurs within the confines of the present setting of the story.

This story takes place between the time of spring 2007 to spring 2008, so not nearly as many people have Netflix, and everyone still has flip phones and whatever. To get the ages thing out of the way now: Cas is 21; Dean is 26 (I had to adjust his birthyear to 81) when the story starts out.

Finally, although it's rated E, most of the story is M except for one scene. I wanted to be thorough, though.


	2. Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Hospitals, painkillers, mention of offscreen violence

**Through the Silence**

ishippeditovernight  
art by deancebra

_Hello to who I'm talking to_

_No more automation_

_I'm hoping you can walk me through_

_And solve my situation_

_It's after midnight_

_And I've been on hold so long_

_You broke through the silence_

_Now I'm not alone_

_You're asking me to help you see_

_The words begin to flow_

_This was not my plan or my intention_

_How was I to know?_

_For such a short time, feel I've known you for so long_

-Colin Hay, “Send Somebody”

White.

And blue. Blue eyes.

No, that wasn’t right. There was a face there, too, set against the white. Two faces, sort of—he was seeing double, his vision swimming and overlapping as the blue eyes peered down at him. 

Dean struggled to bring the face into focus. Holy shit, the eyes were even bluer now that he could see clearly; the person watching him anxiously. “Dean,” the person said in a low, throaty voice.

He knew Dean’s name. Without being told. And those eyes… this place… “Are you an angel?” Dean asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Ange—? No,” the face laughed, the tension in his face breaking. Even strained with worry, he had an amazing smile. “They must have you on a _serious_ amount of painkiller or something. You’re in the hospital, Dean. My name is Castiel. Castiel Novak.”

Dean tried to push himself up on his elbows, but couldn’t seem to coordinate his limbs right. And as he moved— or tried to— the pain started in, as if it had been sleeping at the same time that he was. Head. Upper back. Ribs. Leg. “Hospital? What happened?” He felt his upper body rising up with a humming noise and looked over to see Cas pressing a button on his bed. Hospital bed, yes. “Thanks,” he said, glancing around the room they were in.

It wasn’t exactly a room, per se. To the left was a wall, sure, but the front and right were curtains. Judging from the receding footsteps of a doctor or nurse that just walked in, Dean figured he was in a larger ER room that had been separated into three sections. There was no sound from the immediate section to their right, but they could both hear an elderly woman talking quietly about a headache to another woman. The second one sounded younger, clipped and professional sounding but sympathetic. He thought she might have a bit of an accent.

“You were attacked,” Castiel answered Dean. “Behind Kell’s. Three guys got you and threw you around a bit.”

Dean blinked, parts of the night coming back to him. “Riiiiight…. Fuck, I remember now.” He wished he had the energy to go back and beat the fuck out of those ass-heads himself, but he could barely keep his head up right now. He wondered what his face looked like. His forehead felt like it was scraped open and bandaged.

They fell into an awkward silence. Castiel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, interlocking his fingers and head down. Dean listened distantly to the conversation two sections over without paying much attention, trying to reassemble the night beforehand. Or current night. What time was it, anyway?

He looked at his wrist and realized his watch was gone. Whatever had happened, they’d probably stolen it. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Umm, 5:42 AM,” said Castiel after checking his watch.

Dean slumped back into his pillows, still exhausted. “So like, how’d you know my name? You check my wallet?”

Castiel sat up straighter and pulled his chair a little closer. “Yeah. I got your medical info in there too. Good thing you carried it tonight.”

“Just dumb luck they didn’t steal my wallet too,” Dean muttered. “But I liked that watch.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean nodded his head slightly toward his arm. “Gone.”

Castiel sighed and reached over, gently lifting his other forearm to show him. “You’re _wearing_ it, Dean.”

Dean looked back and forth between both wrists for a moment, then let out an exhale that was nearly a chuckle. “Ahhh… guess so.” He thought he saw Castiel smile, and looked up at the IV next to him. “What _exactly_ ’m I getting here? Anything good?”

Castiel shook his head. “You got me.” He coughed and folded his arms, fidgeting. One heel was lifted, the weight of his leg resting on the ball of his foot; his leg bounced restlessly.

Dean slumped back into the uncomfortable hospital pillow and stared at the ceiling. If he had all his… what was the word… about him, he’d be more pissed off about the attack, but _damn_ , he was just so tired.

Wits. That was the word.

The footsteps from before came closer, and then the curtain rattled partially back. “Dean Winchester? Hi there,” a woman said, holding a chart. “I’m Dr. Talbot. How are you feeling?”

“Hi,” Dean said. He paused to think, then added drolly, “And high.”

She laughed politely. “Yeah, well, you probably still need some time to recover, huh?”

Dean bobbed his head. “I— yeah. I'm tired.” It hit him all of a sudden that that was the exact reason the guys had been able to gain the upper hand on him. Exactly how many overtime shifts had he been taking at Singer's Auto Repair? God, he couldn't even remember.

If he'd had enough sleep, or even his usual amount, he would have gotten the upper hand earlier, no problem. Easy.

Well, fuck. He'd have to end up sleeping here, wouldn't he?

Dean shook his head. “Whatever. It’s… yeah. How long do I gotta stay here?”

“Well, I’d like you to stay a few more hours to keep an eye on you, but you can leave in the morning,” Dr. Talbot said.

“It _is_ morning,” Dean protested.

She tilted her head and gave him a slight near-smirk. “You know what I mean.” Damn, that accent was cute.

He had to work, dammit. “And then when I leave, can I go to my j—” Dean started to say despite the reappearing alarmed look on Dr. Talbot's face, but then happened to catch sight of Castiel keeping a close eye on him, curious and concerned.

Wasn't that the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with?

God, he was going to miss part of the day as it was. In for a penny, in for a pound. Might as well call off the day and get a few more hours' rest.

He sighed and lied back again. “Fine, it’s… Fine. I’ll stay. Lemme call my boss and tell him I'll be off today.”

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Castiel nodding in approval. “Good idea,” he murmured, fiddling with the loose-hanging belt on his trenchcoat.

Dr. Talbot beamed. “Thank you, Dean.” She sighed. “That’ll be a bit of relief, let me tell you.”

Dean slumped farther down in bed. “Okay, okay, I know when I’m outnumbered,” he muttered half-heartedly.

He had no idea why he wasn't fighting harder to get out and back on his feet, but something in him had caved when he'd looked at Castiel.

It made no sense, and the only thing Dean could come up with (in a half-assed, thrown-together-last-minute, seventh-grade book-report kind of way) was _this guy saved my life, I should at least try to take care of it a little_. That still wasn't _quite_ it, necessarily, but it didn't matter.

After a while, Castiel got up. “I'm going to have to go,” he said. “I have to work today.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, _you_ get to work,” he muttered, half-teasing, but was too exhausted to put the actual joking tone into his voice. “Sorry. Didn't mean to sound like that—”

“No, you're fine,” Castiel shrugged. His eyes— were they _really_ that blue, or was Dean just that drugged on painkillers? “I do have to leave, though. I don't actually have to work until later, but I can't— I need sleep or it's not pretty for anyone else there.” He sighed. “I have enough problems with insomnia as it is…”

“I know how that can be,” Dean said, thinking of the odd hours he had to work at Bobby's at times.

Cas seemed to want to say something else, but Dean wasn't sure. He could be imagining it. “Anyway, I'm sorry to have to go.”

“It's okay,” Dean said. “I should probably get some sleep myself. I think I've been up for about five days myself.” He frowned and blinked at the odd sound of the double word usage, but shrugged it off.

“Take care of yourself, Dean, all right?” Castiel said as he approached the curtain edge. It was an incredibly common saying, but somehow, in Castiel's low voice, it sounded original and genuine.

“I will,” said Dean. “You too.”

Castiel smiled at him, and then he was gone.


	3. Second Chance Happenstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: brief mention of food

Over the next couple of weeks after the incident, Dean couldn’t help but think about Castiel. And not only because the guy had saved him. There was something about Castiel himself that drew him in, made Dean want to get to know him. Even though they’d only spoken for a short time, he could tell Castiel was kind and interesting. He was a little dorky, sure, but magnetizing and so, so attractive. And God, those blue eyes… Dean didn’t even know eyes could _be_ that color. He wanted to see him again, if only to reassure himself he hadn’t hallucinated that shade of blue.

The problem was, he had no way of finding him. They hadn’t exchanged numbers. Once Castiel was sure Dean was going to be okay, he’d left (although not without a hesitant backward glance—dammit, Dean should’ve stopped him then and there to ask his information).

So what the hell was he supposed to do here?

Somehow, though, fate was on his side. Or maybe he was just hoping so loud that it turned into some kind of weird pure wish fulfillment, because a few weeks after the incident, he stopped into a local grocery store. And as he walked past the soda aisle en route to get some beer, he had to do a double take. Was that—It was. It was Castiel!

“Hey!” Dean quickly approached him. Castiel was wearing black jeans, a white shirt, and a black half-apron adorned with a white name tag, his name in all capitals. He was stocking two-liters of store brand soda.

Castiel looked just as surprised to see him. “Dean! How are you?” His eyes flicked up to the spot on Dean’s forehead where he’d gotten a nasty scrape from hitting the ground that night. It was a scar now, still vivid but would fade, Dean was pretty sure.

Dean grinned. “Better than I was last time we met,” he said lightly.

Some customer approached them from behind Cas, idly checking out the sodas on the opposite side of the aisle. As they walked into Cas's field of vision, Cas started, his shoulders flinching. Dean gave him a quizzical look, and Cas shrugged it off. “Long day,” he said.

“So. You’re a stock boy, huh?” Dean took in the box of sodas still waiting to be set up.

“Yes, well, it pays the bills,” Castiel replied, not without a trace of resigned weariness. He pulled a bunch of generic ginger ale off the shelf and started loading the newer bottles onto the rack before adding the older ones back in front.

He paused after that and turned to Dean. “Dean, I’ve been, uh, sort of hoping I’d run into you.”

“Really? Yeah, me too.” Dean couldn’t help but smile wider. “I almost stopped you, you know. At the hospital. I should have gotten your number.”

Castiel looked down and started patting at his pockets, digging into one and then the other. “I—oh, damn. Not sure I have a pen on me right now…”

“Um, Cas?” Dean held up his phone with a bit of a smirk. “I can just program it in.”

“Oh.” Castiel flushed a beautiful pink. “…Yeah, that _would_ be easier. Okay.” Dean handed him his phone, and Castiel typed in his number, then dialed. His own phone vibrated audibly in his pocket. “There, now I have yours too.” He smiled shyly.

God, he was cute. Dean couldn’t stand it.

Cas's eyes widened suddenly and he fumbled with Dean's phone. “Uh— um, here… I gotta, uh…” He nearly dropped the phone in his rush to get back to work.

Dean caught it before it fell and turned around in time to see someone in a Dillon's uniform about to cross out of view into the next aisle. He wasn't sure who it was. Some guy about their age, he thought he saw, with vaguely curly hair.

He turned back. “Your superviso…?”

“Uh, no,” Cas mumbled, shoving at soda bottles again. “No, he's— New here too, same time as me. I don't really know him. I like the other hires, I mean, new others— other new hires better, but he's fine. But I don't wanna risk him saying anything, so…” His speech was tattered, words tripping over each other in their rush to leave. Wow, poor guy was worried. It was cute, but he _really_ needed to relax. Take a day off or something.

Dean nodded. “Okay! I'll— uh, yeah. I’ll let you get back to work then, huh.” He flashed a wide grin and winked. “Call you sometime?”

Cas nodded, his blue eyes bright. He darted a glance at either end of the aisle, checking to make sure the coast was clear, and smiled back beautifully. “You better.”


	4. Dean Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CWs: mention of food

About three days later, Castiel was sitting at home in front of some rerun of _House_ when his phone went off. He started, sending a few mini pretzels flying from the bowl. It was… It was Dean, the man from the bar, and his store that day.

He tried to clear his throat. “H-hello?”

“Castiel? It’s Dean.”

Cas paused, and then felt strangely at ease. “Hello, Dean. How are you?”

Dean chucked softly. “Ah, not too bad. I’m at work right now. Things are kind of slow—figured I’d give you a call, see what’s going on.”

There was a beat. Cas’s lips curved up, and he felt a sudden, strange rush of affection for this flirtatious, beautiful man he’d met in such an unconventional way. It made no sense. He barely _knew_ Dean. He shouldn’t be so drawn to him this early—and yet… And yet.

“Hey. You still there?”

“Huh?” Cas blinked rapidly. “Ohh—uh, yeah. Yes, sorry. I got distracted. Um, I’m not up to a lot myself. It’s one of my days off, so I’m… sort of just being lazy, watching TV, trying to pretend there aren’t dishes and laundry to be done, that sort of thing.”

He knew Dean was smiling by the sound of his voice. “ _Don’t_ remind me,” he said. “Hey, listen. If you wanna get your mind off ‘em for a while longer, you feel like catching some dinner? With me, I mean? There’s this dinner I like. They make great pie.”

_Yes, of course_ , Cas almost said. The words were right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, his mouth open and ready to breathe them through the phone, but he was stuck. Frozen. Hesitant.

“…Cas?”

_Say something, idiot_ , Cas told himself. _Talk. You learned how to talk_ how _long ago?_

“…It’s okay if not, by the way,” Dean said uncertainly, beginning to backpedal now, babbling somewhat, “it’s only that, y’know, I had a craving for their pie—well, I mean, I’m pretty much always craving it, it’s not that I wouldn’t wanna go with you, but I—I just thought you might like to go, too, they also got great burg—”

“—Dean, shut up.” Cas finally found his voice.

Dean did. Mid-sentence. Cas could practically hear the sound of the word breaking in two. Dean waited, listening for whatever Cas would say.

Cas got to his feet and began pacing absently. “I, uh, uh, I work a lot of night shifts,” he said. “But what about a lunch thing? M-maybe we could get some coffee?”

Dean sounded much more at ease, and much less like a nervous eighth-grader when he spoke next. “Well, that depends. Where were you thinking to go?”

“How about Common Grounds?”

They traded ideas for a minute or so and ultimately agreed to meet up Sunday at Paradise Donuts & Coffeehouse, a casual little place that Cas had been to once before, with his friend Donna.

“You suuure you don’t want to go today?” Dean asked in a flirtatious tone. Cas honestly wasn’t sure if he was only teasing or not. He wasn't always good at reading everyone's tones or cues. “I might get bored tomorrow...”

Cas shook his head as he walked next to one of his bookcases again. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. But I’m afraid I can’t.” He stopped, absentmindedly running his knuckles against the abrupt edge of a bookshelf, taking note of the black-and-white suddenness of the feeling somewhere in the back of his mind. “I have a few things I need to catch up on.”

“Oh. Well, that’s… Uh, all right, then.” Suddenly, that note of possible wistfulness was fading from Dean’s voice and he sounded confident again. “So. What time do you want to meet, then? One? Two? Sometime around there?”

A commercial blared, its volume cranked up annoyingly loud in comparison to the show that had been on. Cas rolled his eyes over one shoulder, still gently brushing the backs of his fingers against the bookshelf edge as he spoke. “One’s fine. I’ll be there.”

Dean chuckled then. “Great. I’ll, um, uh, yeah. I’ll see you, Cas. Sunday.”

Cas nodded, smiling goofily at some history books in front of him, not registering the titles or any letters in his soft contentment. “Till then, Dean.”


	5. Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: mention of food

A few hours later Cas was swinging open the door to his apartment. “Oh, thank God, you’re here,” he chattered.

Donna nodded as she strode in and slipped off her windbreaker. “Yup, I’m here,” she said brightly, obviously confused. She hung up her jacket behind the door. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, really.” Cas lifted a dismissive hand as he shut and lock the door behind her. “Um, I need your help.”

Donna turned around, tilting her head slightly at him. “What’s wrong?” There was real concern in her tone and face now. “You doing okay?”

Cas nodded, a bit shakily. Fuck. Fuck, he was so ridiculously backwards at all of this—how the hell was he supposed to know what to do? “Y-y-yeah, I’m okay, I promise. Just anxious.” He took a couple of deep breaths and finally came out with it. “I have—I have a date. Sort of.”

Instantly, Donna’s eyes widened so far that Cas could nearly see a ring of white nearly all around her brown irises. “You’re kidding. That’s _amazing_! Congratulations, Cas!” She leaped forward to hug him, squeezing tightly for a second before pulling back to hold him at arm’s length. “So? Who’s the lucky guy?” She squinted her eyes slightly, examining him closer. “…Girl? Whoever. Do I know them? Tell me _everything_!”

“Whoa, calm down,” Cas laughed, taking a step back so that her hands fell free. “I’m still kind of nervous. And it's a guy. Here. C’mon, let’s uh, get something to drink, sit down.”

They wound up on the couch together, like so many times before. Donna had a soda and Cas, a cup of tea. He had a box of peppermint tea in his kitchen, but only seldom ever had a craving for it. Tonight struck him as one of those nights. Maybe it was the comfort of having one of his best friends here. It was nice and cozy.

“…and he suggested dinner at first,” Cas said now. His eyebrows knit together; his hands gently cupped the navy-blue mug. “But I was, I c—I couldn’t. I wanted to put it off some.”

Donna narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Cas lifted his shoulders and looked up at her through his eyelashes.

Her eyebrows and mouth both rose a fraction of an inch in an _I see your point_ gesture. “Okay. True. But, Cas, it sounds like you could have a good time with him. Even if nothing really happens between you two, and you’re not interested in him that way, you could still make a new friend.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cas sighed and uncrossed his ankles, then crossed them again the other way. “And, and I…” He let the rest of the sentence fall into the air and gripped his cup of tea, wondering how open he wanted to be right now. It usually felt safer in the silence when he started doubting his own feelings like this.

But man. If he didn’t try…

He felt like he was staring at two doors in a hallway. One door was open, and through its entrance Cas could see his life stretching, at least for a short time, the same way it had been already. Safe, alone, quiet. Lonely, but risk-free.

The other door was closed. He didn’t know what was behind it. He couldn’t know if it would be something great and well worth trying, or if it would be something that later turned out to be boring and hardly noteworthy, or if it would be turn out to make him regret ever turning the knob or even having the choice in the first damn place.

The choice was his. And that was the scariest of all.

Donna watched his face curiously for a moment. Warmth and concern and care radiated from her, as tangible as the heat of the tea radiating through the porcelain into his palms. When several minutes passed, she spoke. “What? What else?”

Cas lifted his mug and took another drink, needing to moisten his suddenly desiccated mouth. “And the truth is… I… I think I like him, too,” he confessed.

“Really? Cas!” Donna squealed. “I’m so excited!” She threw her arms around him, forgetting the soda can in her hand, and promptly spilled it down the back of his shirt. The motion jostled the mug Cas had in his hands and sent tea over the edges, partially soaking his thighs.

“Aahhh! Damn it!” Cas shrieked involuntarily and pulled away, tugging the back of his dampened shirt away from his skin. The hot tea had enough warmth left to hurt his legs somewhat, but he was more concerned with the chill of the soda right now first.

“Sorry, sorry!” Donna set the can on the coffee table. Soda was dribbling down its side. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. I’ll get it—oh, it’s all on the couch, where are your rags?”

Cas shook his head, shivering as he let go of his shirt. “It’s fine, you—you didn’t mean to.” He got to his feet, tugging at the soaked material of his jeans, and nodded his head toward a door near the apartment entrance. “Um, they're in the closet over there. I’m gonna go change. Be right back.”

-

Once Cas had changed and they’d dealt with the spill(s), they tried again. A little more calmly, this time.

“So, I was, um, wondering, if you wouldn’t mind, maybe…” Cas sensed his nerve slipping away. Why was he like this?

Donna smiled at him indulgently. “What? Coming along with you to witness how cute he is?” Cas felt a blush warm his face. Damn her sometimes. “Sitting there and, I don’t know, coming up with some excuse in case you need to make a quick getaway if he’s a dud?” She lolled her head to the side and faked a snore, eyes shut.

Cas laughed outright. “No, no, nothing like that.” He relaxed. God, she was wonderful. “I guess, I just think I’d feel better if you’d come with me? I… mean, he’s not exactly a stranger, but I’ve only really met him once.” He raised his eyebrows. “And a half, sort of,” he added.

She gazed at him, a fond expression on her face. “Of course, Cas. Anything for you, you know that. You don’t think it’ll be weird, though?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Cas sighed and worried the edge of his lip, catching it between his canine teeth and biting sharply. “I’ve—I’m so out of my element here. I don’t know how things are normally done. But at least at first, I think I’ll need you there. If things seem like they’re going well, I’ll…” His voice trailed off.

Donna winked. “…kick me under the table?” She stuck her tongue out.

Cas grinned. “Something like that, yes.”


	6. Coffee Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: mention of food

Sunday rolled around before Cas knew it. Donna had to work that day, but she got off just before Cas’s date/ not-date. She wouldn’t be able to come over and help him figure out what to wear, but she would be able to meet him at the coffeehouse at the last minute.

So there Cas was, trying to figure all this out on his own. He ended up trying on three different pairs of pants, five different shirts before deciding to go with the second shirt he’d tried on. He was so busy with changing his mind, and thoughts of _Does this look good enough? Should I even_ worry _about looking good enough if it’s just coffee, anyway? Should I be putting this much energy and thought into all of this in the first place since it’s casual?_ that he made himself impossibly late and had to run out the door with a comb in his pocket, hoping he’d be able to fix his hair at various red lights on the way.

Murphy’s Law kicked in, though, and he ended up getting _every single green light possible_. There was no chance for him to sit in the car and check his hair in the mirror at intersections, and Cas was way too worked up to try and multi-task by fixing it while he drove. His anxiety ran rampant; he knew that with his luck, he’d end up in a fender bender, or perhaps off the side of the road into a shallow ditch.

Hell, he was lucky he hadn't walked right into the outside pool when he was hurrying to the parking lot. Never mind that it was in the exact _opposite_ direction of the usual parking lot that he liked to use. Cas was so wound up and anxious, he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started heading toward the one on the opposite site of his building.

Finally, at a quarter after one even with the green lights, he got to the coffeehouse and dashed toward the door where Donna was waiting. “Hi,” he gasped, trying to tame his hair. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time, do I look ok—”

Donna yanked the comb out of his hand. “Hon. Stop.” She narrowed her eyes and examined him. “I like it better this way.”

“What?” Cas reached for the comb, but she stashed it in the back pocket of her jeans. “Give it back, I’m a mess!”

“Huh-uh. You look _great_ ,” Donna grinned. She stuck her fingers in his hair and did something to it. Cas shivered involuntarily as she worked. “Aaand… there. Done. Okay. Now, come on, I gotta see this guy. Go on in!”

-

With Paradise’s layout, there were a few low walls scattered throughout the coffeehouse, partitioning off tables and chairs, or grouped armchairs. One of them—the longest one—undulated across part of the coffeehouse. Next to it were small tables on one side.

Cas saw Dean a moment before Dean saw him.

It was funny, actually. Dean was sitting at one of the tables aside the long wall, drinking something, when he glanced up at the entrance and met Cas’s gaze. His eyes widened and his hand jerked, sending a fair amount of coffee spilling to the table and some on his shirt.

 _Must be something about spills lately…_ Cas grinned, finding himself relaxing as he came forward. “Smooth,” he said as he picked up some napkins and helped wipe the tabletop.

“I—yeah.” Dean was scrubbing at his shirt. “Sorry.” He nodded toward the front where people ordered. “I’d’a ordered some for you too, but I didn’t know what to get, uh, if you liked it with anything, or—or what kind of donuts you like or—”

He was nervous, too. Cas felt some more tension inside him unwinding a little. Behind him, he heard the sound of the door opening and swinging shut. Without looking, he knew it was Donna, coming in to back him up if need be.

“I’ll, um, I’ll be right back,” Cas said. He attempted a small smile, but wasn’t sure how convincing it was. He never was good at the whole socialization thing.

Donna “accidentally” met up with him at the counter. “So?” she asked in a low tone as they waited behind someone with reddish-brown hair almost to their shoulders. She too-casually looked away from him as she spoke, bobbing her head. “How’s it going?”

Cas shook his head, a grin fighting its way free. “You’re…” He couldn’t find the right word to go with the way she made his mood light up and his nerves retreat, so he dropped it. “It’s, uh, going good. So far. I like him.”

Her eyes danced with glee when she turned back. “I know. I can tell. You should see your face—it’s all red.”

“Oh, God…” Cas was embarrassed and he _knew_ it was just adding to the blush even more. “Ugh. That’s… uh. Thanks for that.”

Donna elbowed him playfully. “You’re fine.”

He tried to compose himself as the person in front of them got their order—some kind of iced coffee drink—and left. Thinking calm thoughts, steady breathing, blah blah blah. Damn skin…

Donna cast a glance over her shoulder after they’d placed their separate orders. “He’s cute,” she commented. “Nice smile.” She grinned and lifted her chin, as if acknowledging Dean directly

“What, is he looking over here?” Cas’s eyes widened and he studiously faced away from that direction, staring with exaggerated interest at the menu behind the counter. What if Dean figured out what they were doing? God, he was a loser. “Okay, stop talking to me, he can’t see us together, I—”

“Relax, hon.” Donna stepped in closer, a casual move that could have been read as accidental as she reached for her cappuccino. “Just cause he sees us talking doesn’t mean he knows what’s up. _Calm down_ , okay?” Her brows lowered a fraction. “By the way, you, uh… you…?” Unspoken worry hung between them.

Cas shook his head. “No.” He picked up his own order. “Just on edge, a little.”

“You’ll be fine.” Donna’s eyes gleamed with encouragement. “Good luck, huh?”

A few minutes later he was sitting at the table with Dean, stirring a cup of light brown coffee. He’d gotten it with sugar and creamer, same as always. He also had a couple of cinnamon sugared donuts for both of them. “So. How are you, Dean?”

Dean smiled at him slowly, his green eyes lighting up. “Lot better, thanks. I mean, now that I’m not wearing as much coffee.”

“And not worried about being stood up?” Cas raised his eyebrows self-deprecatingly.

“That, too.”

Cas nodded. “Sorry. I, uh, I lost track of time. I was—somewhat nervous.”

“Mmmm,” Dean took a drink of coffee. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t decide what to wear?” When Cas didn’t answer, Dean lowered his cup. “Oh, man. Dude. Really?”

Cas lifted his shoulders helplessly. “I…” How much to say? How honest to be? “I haven’t been on many dates,” he said finally. “I got anxious.”

Dean shook his head and picked up his donut. “Just relax. It’s not that big a deal,” he said, and took a bite. “Werrr ‘ot gnn—” Cas grinned. Dean chewed and swallowed. “We’re not goin’ to the prom, here.” He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, catching a swipe of cinnamon and sugar left behind, then pointed at Cas. “Okay. That. See that—that smile? Right there? There, like that. It ain’t serious.” Dean cocked his head slightly to the side after he sipped some coffee. “…Less you want it to be,” he added playfully. His tone was inviting but casual enough that Cas’s limbs relaxed and sloughed off the tension he’d been carrying.

Yes. This was, this was good. Comfortable. “Okay,” he said.

In the top of his peripheral vision, Donna shifted, changing position casually. Cas lifted his gaze to meet hers and bent the corners of his lips up deliberately. _Everything is fine_ , he mentally telegraphed, or tried to.

She lifted a hand, pointing a finger first to herself and then toward the two of them across the shop. Eyebrows lifted in a concerned inquiry, double-checking.

Ever so slightly, Cas turned his head to the left and right, trying to make it look like he was glancing at his surroundings. Luckily, Dean wasn’t paying attention. Cas had a feeling he wasn’t pulling off the casual look very well. God, he was a terrible actor.

Donna beamed and flashed him a thumbs-up before returning to her own cup and the newspaper she’d gotten and was occasionally flipping through.

Dean lowered his mug to the table with a soft thump. “So. Tell me about yourself, Castiel,” he said.

Cas corrected him. “It’s just Cas. And…” He squinted. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“You know.” Dean shrugged minutely, body language completely at ease, shoulders shifting back and forth as he sat closer forward. “Who were you talking to up there, where you work, if you ever lived anywhere interesting, family, favorite music. Shit like that.”

“Ohhh.” Cas jostled his coffee as he fumbled roughly for it. _Shit_ , he thought absently.

“Like me,” Dean went on. “I’m a mechanic at Singer’s Auto Repair. He’s a good family friend, actually. Sucks as a boss sometimes. But hey. I’ve—uh, lived in Kansas all my life, but only been in Wichita a few years. I like pretty much any kind of classic rock, especially if it’s from before '79.” He didn’t go on to address the topic about family. “Now you.”

Cas sipped the last of his coffee with a slurp. “Well… Uh, well, that was a friend of mine,” he began. “Donna. And I work at Dillon’s, like you know. Um. I’m just a stock clerk, nothing fancy. Been there about six or seven months now.” He toyed with his napkin, rolling the edge a little. “I don’t particularly have a set taste of favorite music, I guess, but not a lot of people around me have heard of my favorites, for the most part. Except for the couple times in school when I got made fun of for them.”

Dean made a face. “Okay, first of all, fuck those people. Second, c’mon, gimme a shot.” He waved his hand in a small circle. “So, uh, like who?”

Shit. Cas could feel himself blushing. Telling new people about himself (really, anyone at all) made him feel so damn vulnerable and exposed. Even something as tiny as his _music_. It was ridiculous as hell, but there it was. He gave it a good long thought and began listing some.

Dean gripped his cup thoughtfully and stared past him. “Okay, two of those I’ve heard of,” he murmured.

Cas was able to elaborate a little, relieved to have an ear that was open and listening, not judging. As he talked, he wondered what he'd been so _afraid_ of all along. Sitting here with Dean was— it felt natural.

After that, they were both in need of refills. Dean volunteered to get up and get them, leaving Cas sitting nervously alone.

Donna looked up with curiosity. Cas met her concerned brown eyes and sort of shrugged. He was still hesitant, but Dean was… What was it about him? Cas didn’t even know what else it was. But he wanted to know Dean better.

It could be unwise. But there was something there. Cas felt it, he thought.

But then again, the date wasn’t over. So who knew?

At any rate, there was no need to bail yet. Cas gave Donna as reassuring of a smile as he could.

And then Dean was coming back with the coffees and another couple of donuts, setting everything down carefully. A few drops sloshed over the edge as he did so, and Cas swiped up the tiny spill.

“Okay, where were we?” Dean asked as he took his seat again.

“Uh, family.” Cas took a bite of one of the powdered donuts. Oh, man, that was good. He dragged his hand over his mouth before beginning. “At least that’s the one I don’t think I answered. I had—um, have one—one brother.” Cas started to play with the edge of his napkin again, the nerves making their presence known once more. “My brother Raphael. He’s six years older than me. I'm 21. And Raph and me, we’re half-brothers. His dad died when he was three, before I was born.”

Dean nodded. “No sisters?” He took a bite of his own donut.

“No sisters. Kind of always wished I did, though.” Cas chewed the inside of his lip. “A-and more than just Raph.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dean slid a thumb in vague patterns over the side of his coffee mug. “What, you don’t get along with him, or…?” He wiped the powdered sugar off from around his lips.

Cas shook his head. “Not so much, no. He’s—it’s not that, um, he’s a _bad_ guy or anything, it’s more that we just sort of—Our personalities just don’t mesh. He, um, he goes one way, and I go—”

Dean cut him off. “The opposite?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “More like, an entirely _different_ direction that nobody would ever think to go,” he said and took a long drink. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not even on the map at all. And I know he doesn’t _mean_ to, but he’s always had this way of reacting where I feel like I’m—Like there’s something wrong with me.”

A few tables down, someone made a graphic joke of some sort. The group they were with laughed uproariously. Cas wasn't expecting the harsh sudden noise of their cackling; his cup jerked in his grip and burned his mouth.

“Whoa!” Dean exclaimed as he turned back from glaring back at the people laughing loudly. “You okay?” He grabbed some napkins and fumbled them over. “Jeez, we're both spilling today, huh?”

“Yeah, and this isn't even my first spill this week,” Cas said, wiping his face, his tongue feeling extra large after the burn. “But it's my own fault at least.” He sent a sneaky little glare at Donna quickly enough that Dean wouldn't catch it. When Dean frowned at him, Cas shook his head. “It's— Never mind. I'll tell you sometime.” He finished wiping at the tabletop. “So. Where were we?”

“Your brother, I think.”

Cas sighed. “Yeah. Raph. The factory regular one…” He glanced down. “And I'm just— me.”

Dean shrugged. “'Just you' seems all right from where I'm sitting. And as for your brother? Well, fuck what he thinks, huh? I don’t think—I mean, from, you know, from what I’m seeing, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. We’re all different. Just cause someone thinks—um, differently—from someone don’t make them, uh, don’t mean there’s…” He trailed off. “You know?”

Cas’s lips curved again, gently. “Thank you, Dean.” He took a slow drink, the coffee a tangible warmth within his chest accentuating the warmth of Dean’s beautifully awkward words.

“So,” he said. “How about you? Any brothers? Sisters?”

Dean kept eye contact for a moment longer, then glanced down at the still-sugar-scattered table. He straightened up slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, uh, one. My brother Sam. We’re—He’s away at Stanford now, though. We, uh, we don’t talk much.” He didn’t elaborate further. “And—my dad lives in Lawrence, still. Where I grew up. Sometimes I go out there, but it’s probably been almost a year since the last time.”

He hadn’t said anything about his mother. Cas wondered, but he wasn’t sure whether to ask or not. Probably better not to. Just in case. He would say so if she were still in his life; he didn’t want to rock the boat.

“How about you?” Dean went on. “Your folks both still around?”

Cas had been drinking the last of his second cup. He swallowed wrong and started coughing. “Ex—Ugh! Excuse me! Sorry. Um. No. No, my—my parents divorced when I was a baby.” He banged a fist on his chest. “I lived with my mom most of my life.”

“What about your dad?” Dean asked directly. “Is—is he still around? If that’s okay to ask. I mean, _my_ mom… She died when I was four. So, y’know…” He held up a shoulder, then dropped it. “If it’s not a comfortable topic, I understand.”

Cas inhaled steadily. He realized how much tension he had in his jaw and unclenched his teeth, wondering when he'd started doing that. “No. No, my—my father’s not around,” Cas said. “He—he isn’t dead. But he…”

How to finish _that_ sentence? _That_ can of worms? Even if it wasn’t too soon for this kind of conversation, and even if Cas felt the slightest bit comfortable addressing it at all… He wasn’t sure he had access to the right words. Or enough time in the universe to find and organize them.

It didn’t matter. Dean picked up the thread of discomfort in Cas’s tone and changed the subject. “So. Favorite movie?”

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know. I really haven’t seen too many.”

Dean’s head jerked back and he very deliberately blinked. “What? Come on, though. You have to have a favorite _movie_.”

“I mean, I have some I like,” Cas said, “but… I just, I’m not sure. I don’t get out much, and it’s not like I’ve rented everything out there enough to know…”

Dean gave a low whistle. “Man. We are… We’re gonna have to fix that. You know? You’ll have to, uh, come over or something. Catch up on a few classics.”

Cas tilted his head slightly. “What, are you an expert or something?”

“Not as much on movies,” said Dean. He drained the last of his cup and pointed a finger. “I’m better with music. Still not what I’d call an expert, but I know what I like.” He shifted position again, leaning ever slightly closer. “What do ya say?”

Cas found himself mirroring Dean’s earlier fidgeting, thumbing the pattern of the lines on his coffee mug: two different shades of brown and a pale teal blue. He pictured it. The two of them, sitting together in Dean’s living room, discussing things throughout, maybe. They could be close or not. The same with if they went to an actual theater.

Was he overthinking? He ran his thumb over and over the glazed ceramic, wondering.

“Hey.” Dean ducked his head down to sneak into Cas’s view. “You in there?”

He started. Cas’s vision focused again. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just lost in thought for a minute.”

Over Dean’s shoulder, Donna seemed concerned again. She took a drink of her own coffee and watched them, brow furrowed.

She could help. Cas could signal her clandestinely (maybe meet her outside and conference), but honestly, at the end of it all, this would be up to him. His choice.

What did he feel?

What did he want?

“...then it’s understandable,” Dean was saying. “You seem like a bit of a daydreamer—” He caught himself. “Uhh—no offense, I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

Cas found himself smiling, graceless but genuine. “It’s fine, Dean. I know what you meant. And you’re right; I do tend to get lost in thought.” He fell silent again.

Truth be told, there was something undeniably compelling about Dean. If nothing else, absolutely _nothing_ else, Cas could always use a new friend—right? And if it turned out to be something more… well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

He took another deep breath, but there was no more hesitation this time. “Yeah. Sure. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Dean’s teeth flashed mostly white as he beamed, but there were a few donut crumbs visible. Cas struggled not to laugh. “Awesome,” Dean said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Over his shoulder, Donna had seen the contentment in Cas’s face and echoed a grin of her own.


	7. Dance Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: alcohol cw, hinting of past emotional abuse

On their second date, Cas suggested they go dancing.

Dean had picked him up that night, and he did an actual double-take when Cas said it in the car. They were lucky nobody else was on the road at the time too, because he ended up swerving slightly over the center line.

“What?” Cas asked innocently when Dean got the car back in their lane.

“N—uh, no, nothing,” Dean sputtered. “I, uh, wouldn’t have seen you as the dancing type.”

Cas nodded in his peripheral vision. “Sometimes. Not very often, I’ll admit. I’m terrible at it. But I like to burn off some energy once in a great while.”

They were approaching a stoplight; the light shining yellow, but the Impala was slightly too far away to simply floor it through the intersection. He slowed, the car stopping seconds after the light changed to red.

Dean raised his eyebrows and turned to Cas. He shrugged. “All right. What the hell? Why not? Where do you wanna go?”

“Good.” Cas gave him this slow, sweet smile, warmth radiating from his face. Dean couldn’t look away. God, the guy was great to be around. As shitty and weird of a way to meet as it had been, Dean was glad that they _had_ met.

As he watched, Cas’s gaze flickered away for a second, then back to Dean. His eyebrows drew together. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned.

“Light’s green.” There was a hint of mirth in Cas’s expression.

Dean straightened forward too quickly, overcompensating. “Oh—uh, y-yeah. Yup. Okay. Okay, then.” He hit the gas.

-

The place Cas liked to go to wasn’t terribly busy tonight. It was a Friday, which was unusual, he said, but it also wasn’t a big club, so people often went to other, more popular clubs.

And Cas was right. He _was_ a terrible dancer. Clumsy and stiff and not in the least bit in sync with anyone else, or even with the music itself half the time. Dean suppressed more than a few snickers at first, but Cas caught on and rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Dean,” he assured him. “Go ahead, you can laugh. I don’t mind.”

“Okay, cause… Man, you should see yourself.” Dean couldn’t help it anymore and doubled over a little, actually needing to step aside off the floor for a moment. “Oh… Wow. Yeah, you weren’t kidding.”

Cas shoved at Dean’s shoulder half-heartedly. “You’re one to talk, Winchester.”

True enough. “I’m _okay_ , but I’m not _that_ bad,” Dean protested. “But practice makes perfect or something, right?”

“It hasn’t in my case, but anything’s possible.” Cas shrugged and began moving again.

Dean watched at first, remaining at the edge of the dance floor. Despite the teasing, he couldn’t take his eyes off the guy. Cas really was awful, but even so, he made Dean smile. And not just because of the dancing.

Cas completed an awkward little turn and saw Dean still standing there. He frowned. “Hey, you gonna get back out here or what?” He swayed, arms crooked up with his hands near his head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean called, returning to him. “I’m coming.”

-

One of the songs that came on was pretty annoying and overplayed, and even Dean was mildly over its too-obvious lyrics (worse, the repeating chorus that grated his nerves), so they stopped off to get a drink. They'd been on the floor for a while, anyway. Cas seemed especially relieved to take a break, catching his breath and wiping his brow.

Dean ordered a beer and turned to Cas after the bartender uncapped the bottle and handed it to him. “Same for you? I’ll pay.” He grinned and took a long drink. “Ah, that’s good.”

Cas shook his head. “Nah, that’s o—I’ll just have a Diet Coke, thanks.” The bartender pulled out a glass and aimed the nozzle.

Dean slowly turned to face him. “A soda? Seriously?” He exhaled a little laugh, not in a judgmental or malicious way. It—well, damn, why wasn’t he surprised, really?

“I don’t drink that much, Dean.” Cas sipped at his drink, a hint of a smile playing at his lips when he swallowed. So did just a trace of the sugary liquid (or well, whatever subbed for “sugary” in diet soda). Dean’s eyes flickered to them almost against his will as he took another swig of his beer.

“What?” Cas squinted at him.

“Nothing, Cas, I…” Dean reached forward and traced his thumb along Cas’s upper lip, catching the wetness there. “You had a little somethi…” His eyes widened; he suddenly realized how intimate this was and froze. He was standing there, hand resting on Cas’s jaw, thumb still hovering close to his lips.

He swallowed, somehow nervous. And there was Cas, watching him with those damn curious blue eyes, not backing away. “Cas, um… Is this…, uh…” God, he was lame. “Are, uh…—” Fuck. How the hell old was he? 26 or 16?

Slowly, cautiously, Cas licked his lips, a flash of pink sliding out and wetting them. He nodded almost imperceptibly and let his breath out. Dean could hear the barest shadow of a word lost in the exhalation: “… _Yeah._ ” He set his glass on the top of the bar next to him, moving only his arm, body language and facial expression locked onto Dean.

Well, hell. Dean set his own drink aside, pulled Cas close, and leaned in to kiss him.

Cas’s lips were a little chapped, but softer than Dean would’ve expected. He slid one hand up into Cas’s thick hair and the other back where it had been on Cas’s jawline, grazing his thumb lightly over stubbled skin.

Dean realized immediately that Cas was pretty inexperienced. It was painfully, almost embarrassingly obvious that the guy didn’t really know _how_ to kiss. He kissed back, but awkwardly, his lips moving against Dean’s like he was thinking of the motions a beat too late. He rested his hands at Dean’s waist, fingers tightening when Dean teased his tongue along the seam of Cas’s lips, but he just sort of stood there, kinda like… like—

Dean broke off the kiss without going further. “Cas, have—have you not been kissed before?” he asked softly.

Cas just gazed at him with a soft, gentle look, not saying anything as a tinge of red bloomed over his cheeks. He smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dean…” he began.

“Yeah?” Dean’s hands were still at Cas’s hair, on his jawline. He let go self-consciously, wanting to respect boundaries he might be crossing now, lines that might be shifting in the moment.

“Come on.” Cas turned to drain the rest of his soda, forgotten on the bar behind them, and then reached for Dean’s hand. “Let’s go. I wanna keep dancing.”

So it _was_ his first kiss after all. Well, that was okay then. No big deal. It wasn’t like Cas was the first one to make it into his 20s without being kissed. Dean usually preferred people with experience, but this was Cas. It made sense. And it was actually kinda sweet, honestly. No judgment here.

But clearly Cas seemed to be embarrassed, so Dean wouldn’t mention it again.

He followed along, letting Cas pull him back to the dance floor. “Okay. You win. I’m terrible at this,” Dean confessed as they started dancing again.

“And you know I am,” Cas said, pitching his voice loud enough for Dean to hear his low-pitched tone over the noise of the crowd and the music. “But does it matter?” His eyes were lighting up again, that cute smile appearing again on his flushed face.

True. Dean made a face indicative of a shrug and kept dancing. “Yeah. Screw it!”

They kept moving for a while, gradually building up another sweat. Dean shook his arms out; the looseness of his limbs felt amazing after too much time spent working underneath cars and leaning over engines. As startled as he’d been when Cas had suggested it, he was actually really glad now.

“Hey,” he called over a pulsing bass beat. Cas lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment. “This was a good idea,” Dean said.

Cas frowned and cupped his fingers near his ears.

“Good idea!” Dean repeated, louder. He tapped his temple and beamed.

“Told you,” Cas shot back. Dean couldn’t hear his voice, but it was easy enough to read his lips. He seemed a little smug.

 _God, this guy…_ But damn if he wasn’t adorable too. “Okay, braggy.” Dean rolled his eyes.

The music changed. A slow song started. “ _You’re not alone. Together we stand. I’ll be by your side, you know I’ll take your hand…_ ” Couples all over the place shuffled closer together, girls looping their arms over guys’ shoulders, some people stepping off the floor and two or three people coming back out to dance.

Cas looked at him. Dean couldn’t tell what he was thinking—his face was blank. “Do you wanna…?” Dean asked, lifting his shoulders in question.

“Nn—no, I—I don’t think so,” Cas answered steadily. He glanced down at his shoes and then up again, distracted, scanning the walls of the club. “I could use a restroom break, though.” He bobbed his head forward in the apparent direction of the restrooms. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean turned to watch as Cas left, weaving his way through the crowd.

-

Their good mood and the levity lasted for the rest of the evening. On the way back, Cas was telling a story of when a dog had gotten free from its yard. It had gotten all the way up to the store and right on inside, running free and loose until Cas was the one to chase after him, eventually catching him. Cas had then led it gently to the front of the store and one of his coworkers had called the number on its tag.

“…so I’m kneeling on the floor up front with this sweet little guy, petting him,” Cas said now, “in a great mood all of a sudden because, you know, _dog_ …”

“Riiiight.” Dean could picture it all too easily: Cas crouched down, dorky smile, hair hanging sweaty over his forehead from running, crinkles fanning out from the sides of his eyes. The dog itself, panting and looking around at the passers-by who eyed him curiously or commented or _awww_ ed.

Cas shifted in his seat, adjusting his seatbelt against his right arm. “And this guy stops. He talks to the dog, ‘hey, how you doing?’, you know?” Dean nodded. “And after a minute or two, he asks me ‘So how did you get this job?’”

He paused, covering his mouth, as if to hold in the laughter before it escaped just yet. His chest and shoulder shook with obvious mirth. “And I said, ‘Well… I applied a bunch of places with my social worker for a while…’ and _honest to God_ , Dean, I _told_ him how I got the damn job at Dillon’s before I realized what he meant. The job of hanging onto the dog. Not the actual…” Cas made a vague gesture with one arm as he burst out into giggles.

So did Dean. “No way,” he said, making a right turn. He cackled. Surprisingly, his cheeks ached from all the unusual laughing and smiling he’d been doing that night—it was a much welcome change of pace for him. “Well, hey. You weren’t wrong, you know? You told him _how you got the job_ , after all!”

Cas elbowed him sharply, sending the car wobbling toward the center line as Dean’s concentration wavered. “Shut up. Ass…butt,” he added awkwardly after a beat, evidently feeling a need to beef up the “insult.”

“Assbutt? Oh, my god,” Dean snorted. “Man. You are… something else, you know that? The hell have you been, dude?”

“Right here in town.” Cas’s cheeks were pink with delight at the comment. “Around.”

Dean pulled onto Cas’s street. “You know something, Cas? I’m glad we met. I like you.” Hmm. Maybe he’d drank a _little_ more than he’d meant to at the club, because that came out sappier than he wanted it to. Eh, screw it.

“I’m glad, too.” Cas unbuckled his seatbelt as Dean parked at the apartment complex and shut off the engine. He turned to Dean. The harsh lighting of the parking lot’s streetlamps floated down on them, but Cas was still irresistible in spite of the harsh orange-yellow glow they were bathed in. He smiled at Dean. “I like spending time with you.”

Oh, God help him, Dean was _so_ far gone. The jocularity from earlier had dissipated, leaving him lost in the moment. He swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Cas…”

Cas was staring at his lips curiously, then back up at Dean’s eyes. He was _so_ ludicrously gorgeous, it was ridiculous. And the way he looked at Dean, as if there was nothing else in the world worth paying attention to—it was unreal. Dean felt unworthy of that kind of attention.

Cas’s breath caught as Dean leaned in. He threaded his fingers into Cas’s hair, and Cas reached for him, his hands loosely grasping the front of Dean’s shirt to pull him closer. Their lips met.

This time, Cas seemed a bit more at ease. Maybe it was that they were alone, not kissing at the edge of a dance club. Maybe it was that it wasn’t his first kiss now ( _had_ it been his first? Dean could have been wrong anyway). Whatever the reason, he responded now, his hands drifting higher, up to Dean’s jawline, touching gently, shyly caressing as their lips came together, parted, and came together again.

Dean licked at Cas’s lower lip the tiniest bit. Testing, wondering. A small shiver ran through Cas’s torso. He made a small noise, a sort of half-whine, half-moan, and yielded to Dean’s tongue, opening his mouth and letting the kiss progress.

Their tongues lightly grazed against each other’s, but Cas was definitely shy, hesitant, and so Dean followed his lead, keeping his motions gentle and light and careful. They parted after only a minute or two, looking at each other cautiously.

“Dean…” Cas murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I'm, uh… I'm not very…”

One of Dean's hands fell to Cas's shoulder. “It's okay,” he said. “We can just be here. We don't have to… to...” He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew there was something about Cas that made him want to go slow, progress at a slower pace.

Cas dipped his forehead against Dean's. He breathed. “God, you're the best,” he said.

Another voice, a memory. _“You're the absolute worst!”_

“What did I ever do to deserve this?”

_“What did I ever do to deserve you?!!”_

Dean swallowed and pushed the voice back. “Can we just sit here a second?”

“Of course.” Cas held him and rested his head on Dean's shoulder, hands splayed against Dean's back. Dean looked out the window and forced the voice in his head away.

Moments later, they pulled back. “I'm gonna go in pretty soon,” Cas said. He gazed at Dean warmly. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“Hey, no thanks necessary,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “Don't— I'm not that kind of guy, Cas, you're fine.”

Cas kept looking at him with that adoration and it was starting to get to Dean. He could feel a warmth in his face, and he didn't know what part was embarrassment or what was Dean returning the adoration. And then Cas was coming closer again, his hands up along Dean's jaw…

Oh, there we go. Dean kissed him again, loving the feel of Cas’s hair between his fingers, of Cas’s palm on his jawline, sliding farther back to the nape of his neck, anchoring on.

Finally, they parted, drawing back and staring at each other for several silent moments. Cas’s hair was a bit sweaty, small tufts partially hanging over his forehead and temples. Dean wiped his mouth, breathing hard.

“…Wow,” he said finally.

Those incredible blue eyes were wide, staring at him with wonder. “Agreed.”

Dean took a bit to calm down, waiting while air returned to him. “…God…” he said. Single-syllable sentences. That's all he could manage?

Cas turned to look out the windows, checking for onlookers. He smoothed his hair down. “…Yeah. You said it.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and toyed with them distractedly.

Dean glanced over. “So. Uh, you, you doing anything tomorrow night?” Oh, good. Up to multiple syllables and words.

Cas blinked a couple times. He stared off into space, obviously mentally checking his schedule. “Yeah… I work… three to ten, I think. It’s either two or three, but I know it’s till ten. Sorry.”

Fuck. “Oh,” Dean muttered. “Well, gimme a call tomorrow. We’ll have to figure out another time we’re both off, huh?”

“Definitely.” Cas twined their fingers together and squeezed hard. “Good night, Dean.” He opened the car door and gave him one last smile.

“Good night.” Dean watched him step out and walk to the door of the apartment complex. Once he saw Cas scan himself in and enter the second door, he started the engine and drove off, whistling under his breath. _Damn…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas's story about the dog is a 100% true story, by the way. Being autistic amuses me sometimes :)


	8. A Hunter / A Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food mention, alcohol cw

“I cannot believe you even have the DVDs,” Dean laughed, getting up from the DVD player and joining Cas on the couch again. “You have basically zero movies around here, but you have all three _Boy Meets World_ seasons they've released.”

Cas shrugged. “I never got to see much of it when it aired. And I liked the reruns I _did_ get to see, so…”

He really was a dork. Dean couldn't stop finding things that fascinated him about this guy. “All right,” he said. “So, let's watch some.”

They did. They spent a few days binging them, in fact, and Dean found himself disappointed there were only three sets. “Wow, kinda want to see the rest now,” he said, flipping over the back of the third case. “How come they only had the three?”

“I don't know.” Cas was up and making a sandwich in the kitchen. “Hey, you want anything while I'm in here?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe a beer.” He found himself thinking of the episode where Shawn's father had come back. Everything had wrapped up pretty neatly for Shawn. Obviously; it was a show. (Although Dean did remember a seriously tragic episode later on in the series he'd seen when it originally aired, where Shawn's father had died from a heart attack. So things did get a bit real at times, he supposed.) But at the same time, he couldn't help drawing a parallel— almost against his will— between Chet being gone and his own father's many absences.

“Hey,” Cas said softly, walking back in with two plates, and a soda and beer tucked between his arm and chest. He set the plates down on the coffee table and handed Dean the beer. “What's up? You looked pretty thoughtful there.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, accepting the bottle and twisting the top off. He sighed and leaned back, relaxing into the couch. “Just, you know… I don't know.” He wasn't sure what to say, so he shook his head and took a drink.

“Mmm.” Cas sat next to him.

They ate without speaking for a few minutes. Companionable, comfortable silence.

“I just— I don't talk to my dad much,” Dean managed to blurt out after a minute or two. “It— that one episode made me think.”

Cas played with the pop-top on his soda can. “So, um, when was the last time you talked to your father?” he asked in a low voice, hesitant and unsure.

“I'm not sure,” Dean said, realizing as he spoke that he couldn't remember when the last time was. “I sent him a card for his birthday last week, but it's been a few months since we talked on the phone. I saw him last year.”

There was no judgment in Cas's expression, but Dean still felt like he should explain further. “We had this fight right before Christmas and didn't end up talking to each other until— well, until almost my birthday. And I had to work right through it, so we just never…” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. I've— we haven't been that close anyway.”

Cas picked up the TV remote and turned it to regular cable, flipping through until he found a rerun of _Futurama_ , just so that there would be background noise. “Are you okay with that?” he asked quietly.

“More or less,” Dean said. He took another sip of his beer. It wasn't the generic happy kind of family setup most families had, where they lived in the same town as their parents and hung out— but then, it was easier to handle than the setup he and Sam had had ( _Sam…_ he thought with a mental cringe of guilt) when they were growing up. “It's— Things could be a lot worse, so— It is what it is,” he finished, setting the bottle down.

“Kind of… I don't— I don't know,” said Cas. He stared at the pop-top he'd twisted off, finally reaching over to toss it in the small trash can under the side table.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Kind of what?”

Cas bit his lip. “I'm not sure. It— Did you guys have a huge blowout or are you just not— not on good terms?”

The subject was getting a little close for his comfort. “It's a bit of a long story,” he sighed. “I'm not sure I feel like getting into it. But… Dad is… Somethin' else.”

“Gotcha.” Cas dropped the subject and patted Dean's shoulder. “Well, you know I'm here, if you ever _do_ want to get into it. My own family— it's complicated as well.” For a moment he gazed past Dean into space, and his face lost a little color. But then he snapped out of it, focusing again. “So, you know. If you need an ear.”

Dean nodded. “I'll keep that in mind.” And he would. He didn't feel like talking about it now, but maybe someday… Dean smiled, honestly grateful in this moment for his boyfriend. “Thanks, Cas. I like having you around.”

Cas smiled back shyly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they've released all seven (and have since at least 2011, when I got them!), but I distinctly remember a period of time when only three were out. I actually looked it up again and again to make sure the years lined up right to make sure this was correct, and yeah, in 2007, seasons 4-7 still weren't out yet.


	9. Opening Up... A Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: depression/anxiety mention, brief food mention

About a week later, Dean ran into Cas at his store again. He was there to grab a few things and found Cas stocking candy in one of the aisles. Cas didn't seem to get that Dean was there doing his own shopping, and not on some annoying little quest to bother him at work; he snapped at Dean. “I don't have time to flirt,” he said, shoving a handful of bagged gummi worms onto their hook so roughly that the packaging of the first one split and it fell. He huffed out an annoyed breath and set that one aside, shaking his head, shoulders tense.

“Hey. I’m, uh, actually getting some stuff,” Dean protested. He held up the box of cereal he'd picked up first, shaking it lightly. “I didn’t even know you were working today. You, uh, you doin’ all right?”

Cas apologized, breaking down the box and dropping it into a buggy filled with flattened cardboard. “Y-Yes, Dean. I’m sorry, I just—it’s been a rough day, we’re swamped, my boss is hanging around up front so I’m on edge…” He groaned, half-burying his face in his hands. Pressed his thumbs into his temples.

“No,” Dean said, setting the cereal on a random shelf for now. He reached forward, holding onto Cas’s shoulder. “No, there’s—there’s something else. Talk to me, man. What’s going on? Seriously.” He still didn’t want to prod, exactly, but there were clearly things eating at the guy. Dean let go but didn’t back up.

There was a long, tense moment. Cas looked at him seriously for a minute. “Dean, I'm— It's not just stress. I have depression and anxiety,” he said quietly. “I have for a long time. I'm on meds.”

He turned away and stared at the things of candy still waiting to be unpacked. He fiddled absently with the flap of an empty box, bending the corner back and forth. A faint blush rose on his cheeks, and it wasn’t until Dean actually reached out and grazed his hand, stilling Cas’s nervous fidgeting, that he looked up and met Dean’s gaze again.

God. Cas was actually embarrassed? By something he couldn’t control? Dean was honestly surprised. He couldn’t believe that, as close as they were (and hell, in this day and age) Cas was _ashamed_ of this. It wasn’t—The implications were so— Who the hell would _choose_ to struggle with mental illness, anyway? Assuming the stigma and the “tough it up” mentality some people insisted on related to the assumption that it was in any way a choice. It fucking _wasn’t_. Fuck.

It was probably impossible for him to be objective about this. When he and Sam were teenagers, Sam had gone through a rough patch himself, and he’d had a friend at the time who’d discovered he was seeing a counselor and dropped him out of nowhere. Dean had been so furious he’d almost beaten the kid up, but Sam insisted it wasn’t worth it, saying the guy wasn’t a real friend anyway, and “if Dad found out you did that, I mean…”

So Dean tried to say, anyway. Probably not as nice or reassuringly as it could have been. “What? You—you think I care?” Ugh. All wrong. Cas’s face blanched; Dean shook his head. “That’s not—ahh. Fuck. I mean, you think I’d what, judge you for it?” He rolled his eyes. “We’ve all got shit to deal with. It’s no big deal. You’re still you.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know, Dean, some of my stuff is pretty b—” He caught himself there, breaking eye contact again. Hitting whatever block it was that kept him from opening up in the first place as he returned to his task at hand and slid a bright orange box-cutter down the tape on another box. He tucked the blade away into the handle of the tool and pocketed it before began lifting out massive bags of peppermint Lifesavers. The smell of the flavor drifted out into the air.

“Yeah, so?” Dean held out his hands as he watched Cas kneel to put them on at the back of the shelf, sliding the older ones up to the front. “Not your fault. That ain’t something you can control. And hey—you need to talk to someone, I’ll listen.” He reconsidered slightly and mentally made a face. “I mean, I’m far from perfect; I’m not a counselor or anything. Probably say all the wrong things along the way, but I’m here. I can be a sounding board. You know.”

Cas was still crouched down, staring at the bags he’d lined up neatly. Dean reached for his hands and tugged him gently to his feet. “All I’m saying is I’ve—I—I’ve struggled with shit myself and I know a few people who have been through that. My brother had some stuff going on when we were kids. And, uh, yeah. Whatever it’s worth.”

After a few silent moments, Cas finally glanced back at him. “Th-thank you, Dean,” he’d said, his voice shaky. A shimmering edged just along the inside of his lower eyelids. Almost roughly he yanked Dean to him, hugging a little too tightly before pulling back and pressing their lips together.

And then one of Cas's coworkers caught them. “Hey, Novak! Quit flirting. Back to work!” she said, winking as she walked past.

Cas's blush was so damn cute, it was worth being caught.


	10. Cas's Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: nightmare, food cw

They were having another one of their “catch Cas up on movies” afternoons at Cas's apartment about two weeks after that. They’d already gone through one and were halfway through another, but Cas had worked late the previous night and then early today and was finding it harder and harder to stay awake now, yawning every now and then.

It was bullshit. He shouldn’t be this tired. He fought it, but the more time that passed, the more pointless it seemed to bother.

Suddenly, Cas caught himself nodding off and realized Dean had just asked him a question. “I’m sorry, Dean. I have no idea why I’m so tired,” he said. “I was at work until eleven last night, but still… I should be used to it.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, that’s fine,” he said. “Sometimes it just hits you that way.”

They continued to watch for a little longer, and Cas kept pushing himself against his increasing exhaustion. He couldn’t stop the heaviness of his eyelids, though, and after the second time his head listed to the side and he drifted off, he threw in the towel. “Okay, I’m—I’m gonna have to take a nap or something here.”

Automatically, Dean stood and retired to the armchair, silently giving Cas more room on the couch to stretch out.

But Cas shook his head. “Nah. Thanks, but I think I’m gonna go lie down on my bed.” He sighed a little and stretched his arm over behind his neck as he stood up, his shirt lifting a couple inches. Quickly he dropped his arms as he felt the air on his stomach, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You can hang out if you want, or—um, don’t feel like you have to leave now, or—or stay, one way or the other. Doesn’t matter, it’s fine with me.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “There’s pie in the fridge if you want.”

“Okay.” Dean settled into the armchair with his bottle of beer, twiddling it casually, and Cas left with a small wave.

He felt awkward about going and taking a nap, leaving Dean out there, but on the other hand... it was kind of nice that they were so comfortable that he _could_. With no problem. With Dean not being the least bit offended or anything.

It made Cas smile as he drifted off.

-

Once Dean had been there a while, he was starting to feel like nodding off himself. He wasn’t completely sure, though, if Cas would find it weird if Dean stretched out on his couch and conked out. Was it too early for that yet?

He yawned. Maybe he better get up, get some blood going.

Dean was in the kitchen cutting into the pie (apple, as it turned out) when he thought he heard something. A soft noise—maybe a voice. Cas? He frowned and froze for a second. Listened.

It didn’t happen again. Dean shrugged and lifted out his piece onto a plate, already nearly drooling at the smell. As cooled down as it was from the fridge.

He took a bite and groaned in pure satisfaction. Where the hell had Cas _found_ this thing? “Oh, hell,” he mumbled through the forkful. “I gotta get me one of these.”

Somewhere outside the kitchen, there was the noise again. Dean swallowed the bite he had and then wandered out, carrying the plate and fork with him.

He’d been right earlier. It _was_ Cas, muttering softly in his sleep. Dean paused at the doorway of his bedroom, peering in cautiously, uncertain.

Cas's brow was so furrowed that Dean wondered how on Earth he didn’t wake himself up. That kind of frowning didn’t look remotely comfortable.

As he watched, Cas tossed, turning away from him. “No… no,” he mumbled. Panicked.

Dean strode into the room, uncertain. “Cas?”

“No,” Cas said again, more desperate. He curled in on himself a bit, then whimpered.

“Hey, wake up, uhh—” Dean set his plate on Cas’s dresser and stood next to his bed.

Cas twisted back to his other side, facing Dean again, breathing heavily. “—don't, I didn't, no, just—”

Dean got right on the bed, sitting next to him and putting a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Cas! It’s just a bad dream!”

“No! No, I c—” Cas reached up and grabbed onto his head, squeezing tight. “— _alone_ , just _please_! Leave me—”

Shit… What was going _on_ in there? But Dean had to shelf the worry for now. He went for a more direct approach, lying down face-to-face and prying Cas’s hands from the death grip he had on his skull. “Cas! Cas, it’s me. Wake up, come on! Come out of it!” He cradled Cas’s face in his hands. “I gotcha, come on now…”

“—can’t, I—” Cas’s eyelids flew open. He jerked his head a little, blue eyes disoriented, gaze snapping around the room. “I—what…?”

“Just a bad dream, Cas, okay?” Dean said. “You’re awake now, it’s all right. Breathe.”

Cas was still panting. “R-right. A dream.” He was shaking, Dean realized now. “Oh, Dean.” And without warning he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Dean, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. The tremors rocketing through him seeped into Dean’s body, too, and Dean wound his arms around Cas’s back.

He wasn’t sure if the shaking was entirely a reflection of Cas’s, or part of his own from the echo of Cas’s voice crying out… But either way, after some time there, consciousness began fading, and eventually sleep came for both of them.

-

Warmth. Warmth, right alongside him, soothing, the way his electric blanket was when he turned it to a low volume on a warm enough winter’s night. Cas hummed in contentment and burrowed closer in.

There was a low noise in response. It rumbled throughout Cas’s head.

And then he was out again, gone for some time. He wasn’t sure how long.

Cas slowly drifted up through layers of consciousness and became of more sensations: solidness next to him, like a chest he was lying half on and half next to. Tufts of hair between his fingers, which Cas realized only now he was sliding back and forth against the strands. Skin against his calf; Cas’s ankle was curled tightly around another leg. Dean’s.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Nnnn. Hi, Dean.”

“Morning.” Dean looked half-asleep himself, but he beamed. “You’re like this cross between a vine and a barnacle or something when you wake up.”

Cas blushed and unlatched himself, backing away. “Yeah, well…”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Dean said, sitting up as Cas stood and stretched. “It was cute.”

It was _foolish_. It was out of character. It was risky. Cas shrugged. “Whatever,” he mumbled, his elbows still over his head as he yawned. He saw Dean glancing at his stomach and dropped his arms with a blush. His shirt fell back into place, covering the creases and lines worn into his skin from the last sleeping position he’d been in. “You feel like some dinner?”

“Sure, yeah,” Dean nodded. He jerked his thumb toward Cas’s dresser and looked over. “And I still got a bit of pie left, too—” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression turning annoyed. “Fuck.”

There was a plate and piece of pie with about one-third eaten on the floor. And it hadn’t fallen plate-side-down to where some of it could remained on the plate and been saved—the whole thing had landed upended, the ceramic of the plate weighing it down ever so slightly into the carpet. The fork was a couple feet away.

Cas reached for Dean’s shoulder. “Come on. Good thing there’s still plenty in the fridge then, huh? Let’s go.”


	11. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, alcoholism mention

Dean scanned the titles in front of him. Honestly, he really didn’t have a clue what the fuck he was looking for. Even if he managed to pin down Charlie’s latest obsession by pure luck (it was _always_ evolving—he tried, dammit!), what were the chances he got her a book she _hadn’t_ already gotten herself?

He skirted the shelf and raised his eyebrows at a display that further illustrated his point. _Book. Bookmark. Necklace. Magnet. Et cetera…_

Nah, there wasn’t much of a point. The thought counted, whatever, but in reality, a gift card would do fine here. And maybe something else _not_ fandom oriented elsewhere?

He’d just stuffed his hands in his pockets and started for the registers when a familiar flash of tan caught his eye, and he did an actual double take. Yep. There was Cas, halfway across the store, head inclined over some thick book with his brow furrowed, and even from here Dean thought he could tell Cas’s breathing might be fast, his shoulders and chest moving a little more rapidly than normal. He walked back and forth a few times in front of the bookshelf, very slowly. Whatever he was reading, it was seriously engaging.

“Hey Cas!” he called out.

Cas’s head snapped up and jerked side-to-side, almost frantic, before his gaze found Dean’s. “Oh,” Dean saw him mouth. He waved, an uncertain little smile on his face and a bit of red in his cheeks.

Dean strolled over in time to see Cas abandon the book on a shelf. “What’s up? Hey, you okay? How’ve you been?” He rested a bent arm on the top row of the book case, flashing his patented Dean Winchester knock-em-dead grin.

“I’m—uh, fine,” Cas said. “I was off today, so I thought I’d come and browse a little.”

“Good thinking,” Dean nodded. “Yeah. I thought I’d find something for my friend Charlie. She’s into all these nerdy things—Doctor Who, Harry Potter, you know? But I figure anything I’ll try, she’ll already have, so I was gonna give her a give card instead, I guess.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, walking slowly away from him and surveying the store. “A gift card? How close are—You’ve mentioned her to me a few times. You’re close friends, right?” He slipped his hands into his pockets, slowly looking from one side of the store to the next.

“What’s wrong with a gift card?” Dean protested, following Cas. “And yeah, we’re pretty close. She likes Borders. She likes _books_ ,” he shrugged. “And movies. Hell, I like this place too.” Probably not as much as Sam and Charlie, but hey…

“A gift card is what you give someone at Christmas when you’re running out of time, or you’re not sure what they like, Dean.” Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s one of your _best friends_. I think you can try a little harder.”

Dean sputtered. “I—I was—I was gonna get her something real too, Cas, I—!”

“Mm-hmm? Like what?” Cas blinked at him slyly, raising his eyebrows.

…Fuck, he didn’t have an answer for that. Yet, anyway.

Dean opened his mouth, but had to close it after a few seconds.

Cas smirked. “Thought so. Come on, I’ll help you.” He snagged Dean’s hand and started pulling him away. “Tell me more about her.”

-

Cas ended up helping Dean find a couple different books for Charlie. One was about computer languages, one on the study of fandoms, and the first book in a series Dean said he was _pretty_ sure Charlie hadn’t read yet (that he knew of, anyway), but Cas assured him she’d like it. Plus a Harry Potter bookmark, because “even if she already has it, she’ll appreciate the thought, Dean.”

“Man. You’re great at this,” Dean said, shifting the books to his other arm. “Thanks so much, you hear me? I’m gonna have to put your name on these, too.” He beamed.

“Dean, she doesn’t even _know_ me,” Cas protested. “Really. Don’t bother. Don’t say anything, okay?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, you guys would really get along.”

Cas glanced at his watch. “Dammit. Gonna have to be another time, though, I’m sorry. I was going over to Meg's, and I’m a little late now, so…”

“Go.” Dean gently slapped him on the back. “And thanks. Really.” Cas nodded, flashed him that endearing, shy little smile, and left.

Once Cas was gone, Dean found himself in no hurry to leave, either, content to wander and browse a little more. He smiled a bit wistfully. Cas’s enthusiasm as they’d shopped was familiar—while distinctive, in his own Castiel way, it had also given him a little déjà vu. It was appropriate that they’d been picking out things for Charlie because damn, now Dean really wanted to see those two meet.

He didn’t have anywhere in particular to be soon, anyway, so he went through a few different sections. Movies. Humor. Sci-fi. Over in fiction, he stopped to page through a Vonnegut book for a while, reading some of it until he remembered he actually had read it a few years back.

Back in the psychology section, Dean’s gaze landed on a book with big lettering. _Recovery: A Guide for Adult Children of Alcoholics_. He strode past it, annoyed and not wanting to open _that_ particular batch of memories and all the Issues involved. What did it matter that his dad had a bit of a problem— _no_ , not a problem, a _habit_ of drinking too much sometimes. Sure, maybe Sammy the drama queen would bring out the A word now and again, but that didn’t mean _he_ had to resort to labels.

Dean groaned and turned his back entirely on that section, scanning book titles in Relationships without registering any of them.

His father was _not_ an alcoholic, goddammit.

Absently, he watched up and down the aisle, still tense and preoccupied as he looked over titles he couldn’t even pretend to be paying real attention to anymore. A book was lying horizontally over some others, spine hidden and side pages facing out. _Cas’s book_ , Dean thought, frowning. Cas had been almost secretive, in no great hurry for Dean to see what he’d been looking at. He’d even walked _away_ from him as they started talking, subtly leading Dean away from the psychology section.

He stared. Clearly, Cas hadn’t really wanted him to see it. And hey, he was no snoop. He should just walk away now. Forget the whole idea.

But at the same time, he was curious. A flash of Cas’s body language came back to him. Total involvement, difficulty pulling himself away and registering the world around him again…

 _I should respect his privacy, but man, what on earth was he reading_? Dean thought with a grin. His eyebrows lifted in amusement. Okay, that was it for his self-control. He grabbed the book. It was upside down though, so he flipped it up to see the title.

And stared.

_Victims No Longer: The Classic Guide For Men Recovering From Sexual Child Abuse_.

Wave of nausea slamming, stomach lurching, his own books hurriedly flung on a random shelf, he was off, stumbling, hurrying, tripping on a desperate rush to the bathroom, catching himself—

Door. Toilet. Dean’s knees smacked the ground, and he threw up with unexpected force, his eyes watering and stinging.

Afterward, he shoved back against the wall, breathing heavily and staring into nothingness. He sat directly on the floor, knees crooked up toward the ceiling while he wiped his mouth and flushed.

Little things from the past few weeks and months were coming back to him. Small, odd shit he’d puzzled over or handwaved away in his own head, or forgotten about for the most part. Until now, anyway.

A few times he and Cas had been walking through public areas with many other people—a grocery store, the movies; Cas had even managed to get him out to the mall once. And a couple of those times, Cas had stiffened, his gait slowing, and stepped off to the side, letting people walking annoyingly closely behind them pass.

Another time, they’d wandered through a flea market, and somebody’d had a radio playing terrible country music. A song was on—something Dean wouldn’t have taken any notice of at all if not for Cas’s reaction. Dean couldn’t for the life of him remember the song itself now, but it was some generic song about sex, he did know that. And Cas’s lips had tightened, and he’d lost some color as they walked past the stand. He’d thought at the time that Cas didn’t feel good and asked if he wanted to leave sooner; Cas said no, and they’d wandered on. Fuck, Dean didn’t even realize he’d remembered the small details until they jumped into his mind just now.

How the hell did he _not_ know? Not start _wondering_ , at least?

He sat back against the wall of the restroom, staring blankly.

What was he supposed to do _now_?

-

Back in the store itself, Dean retrieved his things, barely able to recognize where he was at this point. After a moment or two of staring blankly at the floor without so much as registering the color of the carpet, he snagged the book on abuse, too, shoving it under the stack so he wouldn’t have to see the title again for now.

-

Dean spent the next couple of days reading the book. Compulsively. He couldn’t tear himself away. It disturbed him to the point of losing his appetite, and his sleep was interrupted with frequent restless wakening, but goddammit, now that he’d figured this out, he couldn’t stop.

And _fuck_ , now that Dean had given himself time to think it all through, he could remember a handful of times they’d been watching TV together and Cas would have no reaction to any reference to sex. Not overtly _bad_ reactions—Dean was beating himself up for not suspecting sooner, but he damn sure would have clued in on it faster if that were the case. But looking down, checking his phone for missed calls, fiddling with his hands.

And Cas had a habit of getting up from time to time when they were watching stuff: making a small snack, checking something on his computer, hitting the restroom, popping out with “Oh, I forgot, I have to return a phone call.” They weren’t _always_ during sensual scenes, but a lot of them had been, Dean realized now.

He also had this thing with men with curly hair, Dean was realizing now. Women, he didn’t think it seemed to be an issue, but yeah, there was a guy at Dean’s apartment Cas seemed to be uneasy around. He was harmless if a perhaps a bit annoying, but Cas tended to walk faster if the guy was in the area when Dean brought Cas over.

Plus, that guy at Dillon's Cas didn’t like to work the same shifts with. Dean had had him for a cashier once or twice, and he was generally polite. A little too talky. That was about it from Dean’s experience. Dean himself didn’t know much about the guy, admittedly. But the more he learned, the more he was thinking it was something to do with the guy’s _hair_ , just like with the dude at Dean’s apartment. Something in Cas’s past… Someone had had curly hair.


	12. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw

There was a list of problems that a lot of survivors had reported. The book said that not everyone would have all of the issues, but that the list was most commonly reported things.

And Dean couldn’t keep from berating himself the more he read, and then stopped to think back on things that he’d missed.

Like the thing about mental health issues. Depression and anxiety, low self-esteem, etc.

Cas had disclosed his depression and anxiety to Dean. That, he’d known for a few weeks now, and there was no way he saw Cas any differently because of it. Shit happened to you in life; you had to play the cards you were dealt.

And honestly? Cas was playing them brilliantly. Dean knew others who’d had depression and weren’t able to have their own apartments, or hold down jobs, etc. Life didn’t have this one simple path the way society liked to cram down your throat.

Hell, look at him. High school dropout, homeless for a while, now _he_ had an apartment, shitty as it was. Thank God for Bobby letting him crash on the couch for a while until he earned enough at work for a first and last month’s rent, etc, on his own place. Sometimes he really had to stop and remember that basic accomplishments were way more awesome than people realized.

It was hard as hell to make it out on your own when you _weren’t_ struggling with any health issues at all. But Cas was there. Cas had made it.

And Dean had seen prescription bottles in the kitchen at Cas’s apartment. Sometimes, if he was over in the evening, Cas took one of them with dinner. He’d been wary about it at first, but now it wasn’t as much of a deal to him anymore—merely something he needed to do.

So clearly, he was keeping up on his health and shit. He was doing good. And Dean wondered if Cas ever gave himself credit for all of that.

It just sucked that he _had_ the anxiety and depression in the first place, Dean mused. He’d been sitting with the book on his lap, staring occasionally at the TV but then back into empty space.

But sometimes when they were together, Cas would fall into these silences. He wasn’t a sullen type of guy (usually)—these weren’t gloomy, “mad at the world” moments or anything. And yet, there was a faint color to his quiet, a simmering underneath the surface that Dean was hesitant to disturb. Not that he worried for his own sake about Cas yelling or anything; rather, he simply didn’t want to push Cas on something that bothered him. Surely he’d talk about it if he wanted to, right?

He’d try and help in probably an awkward way, reaching over wordlessly and intertwining their fingers, rubbing a calloused thumb over the back of Cas’s hand. Or maybe sliding his foot under Cas’s ankle, offering a lazy slow smile when Cas turned to him. “Hey,” he’d say, or press a kiss to Cas’s temple or cheek. “You okay?” Cas would sometimes smile, or squeeze his hand. Sometimes he’d answer, sometimes not. But he’d never divulged much in these moments.

And fuck, now Dean knew _why_.

He flipped through it again, putting more pieces together.

_Hypervigilance—extreme startle response_

Oh, yeah. Definitely. He'd noticed that one. All those times Cas couldn’t stand having anyone or anything too close behind him… Hell, even something innocuous like somebody unexpectedly walking through a doorway he was watching made him jerk quite visibly. Loud or sudden noises did, too.

Once, they’d been driving somewhere—Cas at the wheel; they were in his car, not the Impala—and a car was on their ass. Dean had flipped them off, but of course it only spurred them to follow closer. “Just speed up,” he’d suggested. They weren’t on a highway, but a road more or less in the middle of nowhere, where they were less likely to piss off a cop.

But Cas was too distracted—or upset, Dean realized now—to listen. He’d ended up pulling into a random driveway, waiting until the other car zoomed past before he got back on the road. He’d simply shrugged off Dean’s what-the-fuck look. “Easier than putting up with that shit too much longer,” he’d said.

And there was more than Cas’s aversion to having people behind him than simple uneasiness. If he was walking and turned around, suddenly seeing someone there, he tended to react with alarm and almost fear, his whole body jerking in surprise as if he’d gotten an electrical shock and his eyes widening.

Dean had been at the store once, chatting with him when Cas was working. They’d been at the front of the store at an empty register, Cas scanning the monthly safety paperwork all employees were required to sign off on, and they were trying to decide where to go for their date the next night. Dean was standing on Cas’s right, and he saw a girl in the Dillon's uniform walk up behind Cas but was distracted and didn’t think to say anything. She touched Cas’s back to get his attention, and Cas jumped, exclaiming out loud as if he were in danger.

Cas had recovered quickly, saying she had taken him by surprise, and laughed it off. Even made a joke. He’d said he was so preoccupied, and there was so much on his mind that day as it was, that he was surprised he hadn’t cracked and was out interrogating cats somewhere.

Dean was so proud of him for how quickly Cas had come up with that—as much as it could have been improved upon—that he’d forgotten the incident later.

God.

So many breadcrumbs.

So many _clues_ …

 _Why the_ fuck _didn’t you put this together sooner? Were you fucking_ blind _?_ Dean swore under his breath and set the book down, putting his head in his hands.

 _What if I’m completely wrong, anyway? What if it’s not even him? Someone in his life, and I’m just going off the rails here?_ Dean wondered, setting the book aside and getting up to get a beer. He cracked the top off and eyed the slapdash arrangement of pictures on the front of his refrigerator among bills and papers he needed.

There was one of himself and his father in front of the Impala from about three years back from the last time he’d gone to visit Lawrence where Dad was actually smiling, Dean looked halfway decent-ish, and Baby was shining in the sunlight. One of Benny ducking his head and unsuccessfully hiding a grin from couple weeks ago, when the two of them had gone drinking after Dean got off work; Dean had taken it with his cell phone.

And one of Charlie grinning, her whole face shining as she walked up to the main entrance to the apartment. Even now, after how many times Dean had looked at it, he couldn’t help smiling back at her. It was a reflex.

Charlie.

Maybe that was it.

Dean took a long, slow drink, still eyeing the photo. She’d appreciated the birthday gifts. In fact, she’d _so_ appreciated them that she was immediately suspicious and asked him who helped out, and Dean shrugged and gave all the credit to Cas.

He pulled out his phone and stared at it for a long time before flipping it open. His shoulders were heavy.

Dean was no idiot; he knew it was sort of a fucked up thing to do. If Cas was, in fact, an abuse survivor, the last thing he'd want would be people talking about it behind his back. But God, Dean was so far above his head here.

He located Charlie's number and hit Dial.


	13. Charlie With The Assist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, alcohol cw

She arrived the next day with printouts and books, oh, God help him.

“Jesus, Charlie,” Dean said, watching her rearrange his stuff on the dining room table so she could spread her things out. Books, pages, highlighters, pencils, post-its, phone. “What, uh, what is all this?”

“I did some research and— let me just tell you, there is not a whole lot of stuff out there for male survivors.” She pulled her hair back up into a quick ponytail. Oh, she was _serious_. “So I got some information that's actually geared toward women, but really, a lot of it can be applied toward all genders.” Charlie started to separate the printouts into a few little piles. “We've got stuff about abuse itself… Stuff about dating a survivor… general signs and symptoms… and ways to help.”

Dean sank into a chair. “Wow.”

Charlie looked up from her work, blushing slightly. “I, uh, I like projects.”

“I know,” Dean said. He was half-smiling, a wave of affection nearly knocking him over. “How long have I known you?”

“Yeah...” She was almost as red as her hair. “You should probably know this about me by now.”

Dean nodded and got to his feet. “Right. Well. I'm gonna get a beer if we're gonna do this.”

“Get me one too!” she called behind him.

-

An hour later Dean was more prepared than he really wanted to be, but it was for the best. Going through the information, he had more tiny moments stab his brain, more thoughts of _should have known should have known_ even while he kept thinking that it could all be a wild coincidence.

And yet, somehow, in his heart, he knew he was right.

More than one bit of information had said not to push the person. For example, when it came to therapy—which Dean knew Cas was already going to anyway. And to be patient. Sensitive. Not to ask for details if they didn't want to talk about them. (Dean never would have asked anyway, though.)

He finished the last of his current beer and watched Charlie gather the papers together, tapping them against the table to straighten their edges together. “God, I hope this goes well. I'm… Ugh.” Shook his head.

“It will.” Charlie set the pile of pages down. “You’re not—This isn’t a bad thing, talking to him about it, Dean. He needs to know he’s not alone in this.”

He swallowed thickly.

She indicated the pile of books she hadn't packed up yet. “You can borrow those too, if you want. They're under my name, but I tucked the library slip in the top one so you know when they're due.”

Dean stood up and threw his bottle away. “Is there anything you _didn't_ think of?”

She pretended to ponder something difficult. “Ummm... How to make it to ComiCon when you wait tables and people suck at tipping?”

“We'll get you there someday, Charlie.” Dean hugged her. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” As she pulled back, she looked at him carefully. “Don't push him. Just let him know you’re there if he ever wants to talk about it. And if he doesn’t, well, you’re there anyway, right?”

“Right.” Dean nodded. God, he was so anxious about this going well. Or it going at all.

As she zipped her bag back up, she stopped at the door to turn back and watch him carefully. “And hey. Good luck. Lemme know what happens, okay?”

“I will,” Dean said. “Thanks, Charlie.”


	14. Intervention of Sorts: part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, food cw

It was a couple of weeks later, and Dean was ready. He was.

Or at least he hoped it was.

He wasn’t sure entirely what would happen when he confronted Cas today, but either way, he was damn sure gonna talk to him about—Dean stumbled over the word in his own mind—about the abuse.

“Okay,” he mumbled, bringing his hands to his mouth and wiping his lips. “All right, yeah—okay.” Another time check. It was twenty after five—Cas was on his way; he’d be here anytime.

Charlie’s words occasionally returned to him, the conversation they’d had running through his mind.

Now he was here, his stomach double-knotted and heavy with uneasiness while he waited. He’d told Cas to drop by after work, leaving no hint in his voice about what was on his mind. And Cas was off at five. He’d said he would come straight from work, stopping on the way to pick up something to eat.

That reminded him—did he even have anything for them to drink? It had been a while since he was at the store himself, and he wasn’t sure if Cas would feel like a beer tonight anyway. He checked the fridge, frowning slightly. Half gallon of milk with maybe a cup sloshing around at the bottom, expired thing of orange juice—Dean tossed it—a single can of Coke he’d forgotten he had… Well, whatever. There was always water. Cas wasn’t picky; he’d understand.

None of this was even an _issue_. Christ, he was obsessing.

His phone went off. Dean started. “Hey,” he said as he flipped it open. “Y’ here?”

“Yes, I brought chicken. Hope you haven’t eaten yet. I’m starving.” Cas’s voice was soothing, a gravelly balm to Dean’s anxiety.

Dean crossed to the door and unlocked it. “Yeah, no, I’m definitely gonna have some,” he said. On the other side of the door, distant footsteps grew in volume as Cas made his way up the stairwell at the end of the hall. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

“See you.” They hung up and Dean swung the door open just in time to see Cas turn the corner. Cas’s whole face lit up when they saw each other. He smiled a too-gummy grin and Dean’s chest tightened a little. God, he didn’t wanna bum him out tonight when he looked like that.

More of Charlie’s words echoed back to him. _“You’re not—This isn’t a bad thing, talking to him about it, Dean. He needs to know he’s not alone in this.”_

Right. Okay. Okay, then. Dean swallowed and forced himself to smile back. “Hey,” he said warmly, holding the door.

“Hey, yourself.” Cas switched the bag he was carrying to his left hand and half embraced him before pulling back and kissing him briefly. “Mmm. Missed you. How was work?”

Dean shrugged. “Same as usual,” he said, following Cas as he walked in and set the bag down. “Got a Saturn in today that, yeah, probably not gonna be running much longer. But eh. What’re you gonna do?”

Cas was already opening the packages and setting everything out. “We had a dog run into the store today,” he commented, the side of his mouth already lifting at the memory.

Dean stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Another one?” He waved a beer in offering. “And hey, want one?”

“It’s—you make it sound like it happens all the time!” Cas said with clear amusement. “But yeah, happened again today. And yes, I’ll have one.”

“All right.” Dean popped the caps off both bottles and handed them over. “So!” he began, returning to the kitchen. “Let me guess. You chased after it and got to be the one to watch him while they called the owner, right?”

Silence.

He peeked back out and grinned, despite his earlier uneasiness. Cas was smiling to himself; when he saw Dean, he nodded.

“You would really get along with my brother, Cas, you know that?” Dean came out and set down the silverware and paper napkins, noting the gorgeous tint of pink in Cas’s face. “You’d both adopt every animal if you could.”

Cas took a long swallow of his beer. “Did you two ever have a dog? Or any animal growing up?”

“Nah,” Dean said. He took a bite and chewed for a moment, thinking back. “We j—Dad wouldn'—” He paused to swallow, rethinking his words. “No, our—our place, the apartment we lived most of our childhoods, anyway, wasn’t pet friendly. I wish we’d moved sooner. Sam woulda been great with a dog…” Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin and thought of the couple years Sam had asked for a puppy for Christmas. God. “…But yeah, we didn’t end up moving till he was seventeen and I was twenty-one. I asked him about a dog then and he said he didn't mind us not having one.”

Dean lapsed into a brief silence at that, realizing now that Sam had known all along it wouldn’t matter so soon before he would be leaving. He shook his head and took another drink.

They ate while the conversation continued to stay on the lighter side. The original subject of Cas’s abuse never left Dean’s mind; it thickened and congealed, weighing on him more and more. Finally, he found himself staring at his nearly empty bottle, wobbling its base around in a circle on the table’s surface. He licked his lips, absently registering the salty flavor from the chicken.

Cas picked up on his mood. Dean had been growing quieter, his sentences shrinking in length. “Dean? You all right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Inwardly, though, he was trying to decide how the hell to approach the subject.

 _“I saw your book the other day.”_ No, that was almost a creepy way to start.

 _“I think there’s something on your mind.”_ Well, maybe. But it was so general—plenty of things could be on Cas’s mind. Not to mention, it kind of… How much did he think of it, anyway? Maybe Dean was off base a little here and Cas had already addressed this years ago in therapy, and he was only a little jumpy that day because he wasn’t ready to address it with Dean yet.

 _“I think you were abused.”_ Because… being that blunt and direct was a good idea? Just drop the bomb on him? No.

 _“I was reading about abuse and…”_ and wait to see his reaction?

“Dean?”

He gave up on organizing his thoughts for the moment and stood up. “Yeah. I’m gonna get another beer. Want anything while I’m in there?”

Cas frowned. “No. Are you sure you’re okay? You seem really preoccupied.” He watched Dean curiously, his whole face covered with concern and a bit of curiosity.

What if he took the book out of the drawer he’d thrown it in and set it somewhere visible? To see if Cas reacted?

“I’m—yeah, I, uh…” Dean stopped mid-sentence and rested his palms on the back of the chair he’d just been sitting in.

Tell Cas _he_ was abu—Dean stopped the thought right there. _What the_ hell _is wrong with you? Dad's yelling doesn’t compare to what he went through, you selfish dick._

He took a deep breath. “Actually, there is something that’s been on my mind,” he said, glancing up from the table top to meet Cas’s gaze.

Cas’s brows knit together. “What is it? Can I help?” He got to his feet and crossed around the table to stand next to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I—I will,” Dean managed. “Um. As—as soon as _you_ talk to _me_.”

“What do you mean?”

He shut his eyes. “Cas. I know. I—I know—” _Okay, broken record, spit it out._ “I know what you went through. When you were younger.”

An exhalation of breath. “Uhh—wha—what?”

Dean looked directly at Cas. “I know,” he repeated, softer. “About—” God, he couldn’t even say the word, how the _fuck_ were they going to do this? “About the, um… the…” Huffed out all his air, and with what little remained, said quietly, “…the—the abuse.”

Cas was shaking his head. “Uh—no, Dean,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. He straightened up and stepped backward. “I— wasn’t, I—wh-what? _Why_ would y—”

Dean almost wanted to laugh. No, cry. He didn't know what was going on. God, he was losing his mind. “If you weren’t, then why can’t you stop stuttering?”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Cas said, firmly this time. He faced away, obviously trying to bring his breathing under control. “I don’t know why you’d—” He lifted his head sharply and turned to face Dean. “The book. You saw me with that book the other day.”

“After you left,” Dean admitted. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, Ca—”

“The hell you weren’t!” Cas exclaimed, backing away again.

“I thought you said it didn’t happen?” Dean lifted his eyebrows. Cas’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t say anything. “Right. Thought so. Come on, I just wanna help, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, I’m not trying t—”

“Just leave it alone!” Cas spat, pivoting and escaping into the bathroom.

Fuck.

Dean followed in time for the door to slam in his face. Shit, _everything_ about this was turning out wrong. “I’m sorry!” he called out. “I really wasn’t trying to be nosy. I’m—if you wanna talk, I’m here!” Terrible. And too late.

There was no response.

Fuck it, he could wait him out. Dean leaned against the facing wall and watched the door. “I’ll wait as long as I need to, okay?” Crossed his arms. “I mean, until you—uh, if you need to talk. You don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“Leave me alone,” Cas finally called out.

“Okay, well, uh, yeah. Y-yeah.” There really wasn’t much of a point in pressing the issue. He’d said what he meant to. Only thing to do now was wait.

Dean took a seat at the dining room table again. Somehow he felt worse than before, and wasn’t _that_ fucked up? When this was about Cas in the first place? Dude had a right to react however, be it opening up or pushing people away. It sucked, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He just wished he didn’t feel so goddamned _guilty_.


	15. Intervention of Sorts: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, self-injury (*caution: active and on screen*)

Wrong. All wrong. This could not be happening. Everything he’d—after all the work he’d— Trying to bury it back u—

Cas sat on the closed toilet seat, leaning forward, head close to his knees. Thankfully Dean had finally left him alone, so he was free to have his freak-out in peace. He’d already managed to get his breathing under control, but he wasn’t about to walk out of this bathroom anytime soon.

Dean had _no right_ to be talking to him about that kind of shit. None. He didn’t know what had happened. Not _really_. Not many people did.

_“It's okay, I won't say anyth—”_

He groaned and clenched his eyes shut tight, forcing the words away. He would _not_ go through that shit again.

Okay, yes. He’d been through—well, he’d had shit happen to him. But Cas had taken great pains, in some cases literally, to cover it up. Or he had, until more than thirteen months before, anyway, when everything had blown up in his face.

He squeezed his hands so tight into fists that they shook. Tendons flickered along the back of his hands and his nails bit into the palms.

 _Talking only fucks things up, didn’t you learn that, moron? Look how_ great _things are. Look how_ far _you’ve come. Look how_ worth it _everything was._

Blank, hopeless days staying with his grandparents out of town. Talking to intimidating official types. Getting so stressed out Cas had felt like his mind had snapped as reality somehow shifted and he began perceiving the world around him as dreamlike and unreal, knowing at the same time it was real, the terror that he’d lose it visibly in public and just start screaming or something.

 _You’re so goddamned stupid, Castiel, none of it was worth_ anything _! Why did you even bother?!_

A distant noise on the other side of the door; Cas thought he could make out the sound of running water from the kitchen. Dean working on the dishes, or something.

Fuck this.

Cas leaned to the side and tugged his wallet free from a back pocket, flipping it open. He swallowed hard and reached into the last slot for credit cards. A prick of pain on his fingertip; Cas ignored it and adjusted his grasp slightly as he pulled a razor blade free.

Where, though? He wasn’t wearing long sleeves, and even if he was, the weather was too warm to cover up for days on end. It would look suspicious.

Not to mention, he might still want to go swimming this summer. Generally he didn’t go often, worried about people seeing his scars. Regardless, he worried about injuring in an area he might need to have exposed later, if he _did_ change his mind and swim.

And finally, he was in his work uniform. If he did it on an upper arm, it might soak through. And God knew Dean didn’t deserve to find out about _this_ part of Cas’s life.

He tossed his wallet onto the bathroom counter and stood, undoing his pants and shoving them down to his knees impulsively.

Cas snatched a short strip of toilet paper and folded it in on itself, setting it on his left leg for now. He pinched a bit of flesh on his right thigh, staring and feeling his pulse still beating hard in his throat.

He worked. But it wasn't enough; he was unsatisfied. He glared and tried again.

…Well, that was a _little_ better, but dammit, he wanted more.

The sound of the water stopped. After a moment, Cas thought he heard the refrigerator door shut.

Another try. And then another. He just wasn’t satisfied with it like he wanted to be, and the absurdity of the situation made Cas want to laugh, but part of him worried he wouldn’t be able to stop if he started. _Ridiculous._ _Coward._

“Hey, uh, you want anything else to drink? More chicken?” Dean called through the door. “Um, this is _not_ me being pushy, by the way. Just asking.”

Cas set the razor on top of his wallet for now and stared down at the wounds. “No.”

Silence again, but Cas could tell that Dean was still waiting. Finally—“Is there anything I can do? You want…” His voice trailed off awkwardly. “Um, anything?” Dean asked.

“No, I’m all right,” Cas said evenly. He pressed the toilet paper against his leg. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay.” Only then did Dean leave him alone.

Dammit, this wasn’t going to be enough. And he’d already been in here too long, anyway.

Absently, Cas registered the shifting of his breakdown from panic to disappointment. Anxiety to annoyance. He was still frustrated, still upset, and this wasn’t working like he’d hoped. He could probably talk to Dean now. He hoped.

But dread remained, hanging heavy, draped over him heavy like a rain jacket that had soaked through and provided no real protection from the storm— had in fact, held the storm's precipitation closer to him, giving even less protection than simply waiting in the rain would have done.

 _Don’t forget talking doesn’t do a lot of good_ , he thought, reaching forward to turn the water on in the sink. _Might help him, though. But keep everything in mind._ Cas ran a fresh handful of toilet paper under the water and squeezed the excess out before swiping it over his cuts.

It didn’t look like Dean kept much in the bathroom in the way of first aid supplies. Just a generic box of standard-size bandages, most of which hadn’t been used yet. Cas briefly considered covering the injuries with them anyway. But it didn’t matter. The bleeding had already started to slow, and his jeans were black. Anything that ended up soaking through would be hard to spot anyway.

He tucked his razor blade back into its slot and closed his wallet back up. Flushed the reddened toilet tissue and watched it swirl down, keeping watch until the water had settled. Cas knew he was being too paranoid, but he wanted to make sure no blood or red-stained tissue came back up to give him away. This was _his_ habit to deal with, nobody else’s, and he’d be damned if Dean wanted to Talk about it too.

Cas took a couple of deep breaths and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked okay, he thought. Upset? Yes. But not as out of control as he’d felt earlier when he’d locked himself in here. And not as static-y as he felt.

He knew he was fooling himself.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he thought. _Pretend. Fake it. He doesn’t have to know._

He washed his hands and breathed. Counted one, two, three, four, five.

And then he opened the door and walked out.

-

Dean exhaled in a nearly audible sigh of relief when Cas reappeared. _Thank god,_ he thought. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Cas seemed different. Calmer, maybe? Definitely not good, though. He took a seat on the couch in the living room and picked up the TV remote.

“Lookin’ for anything in particular?” Dean followed him and sprawled out in his armchair, watching Cas channel surf.

“Nn-nnn.” Cas stared at the TV; a man and a woman talked in some overly bright scene from a movie Dean thought he’d watched before. He rubbed at his right thigh, distracted.

Dean checked his watch. Almost six. “News should be on soon,” he said pathetically. Ugh. The hell was the matter with him? Babbling, really?

“Did you want to watch it?” Cas looked directly at him. “Or anything else?” He held out the remote.

“No, that’s—No.” Their gazes locked for a moment, and then Cas broke the eye contact, curling into himself against the side of the couch.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes while Cas continued to flip through stations.

Finally, Cas cleared his throat. “It—it—was a long time ago, Dean. I don’t…” He dropped an arm against his bent leg, tapping two fingertips in alternating beats against his calf. Curled up tighter, resting his head on the uncomfortable side cushion.

Dean bit his lip.

“I don’t—I mean—I had a bad experience when—when I tried talking about it before.” Cas coughed, clearing his throat. “It’s not—it’s not something I like to—” Full stop. He shook his head, giving up on finishing his sentence, and reached the remote forward to change another channel.

“It’s okay.” Dean got to his feet. He retrieved a thin blanket from his bedroom and held it out. “Hey. You cold?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Cas accepted it and covered up, sighing.

More silence. Cas ended up stopping on an old rerun of a sitcom and stared blankly at the screen, and after a while Dean stretched out on his chair. “Doing okay?” he asked. “I could get a pillow. That couch isn’t the most comfortable.”

Cas snorted. “I know,” he said. “You really need to trade up. And it’s fine.” His voice continued to hold signs of strain and stress, but Dean could tell the prickly anger was subsiding.

They stopped talking after that. Dean unfolded the footstool on his chair and settled in for a nap himself, his distracted and troubled thoughts uncurling into indistinct and unconnected threads. As Dean started falling off into sleep, he was vaguely aware of Cas getting up to retrieve a pillow after all. He was almost out, but not enough to miss the kiss Cas dropped on his forehead on his way back through, the pillow rustling against Dean’s armchair as he did so.

Dean’s lips curled into a tired half-smile, but he didn’t open his eyes.

By the time he woke up again, Cas was gone.


	16. Silence Is Not The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw (*discusses when it started, goes some into detail, and is possibly triggering, be safe <3 <3*), alcohol cw  
>  **CW: Art is included which shows scars. This will be included at the bottom if you do need to avoid the SI trigger. I'll leave some line breaks beforehand.**
> 
> Chapter title comes from Bush's song "Letting The Cables Sleep."

It was a week before Cas spoke to Dean again. And when he did, he just said on the phone, “Come over.”

They sat at Cas's apartment silently, no words between them, nothing on the TV, just pure silence— a rare thing for Cas to feel comfortable in. It was as if he absolutely couldn't move from his own thoughts to speak or even hit anything on the remote.

Minutes floated by. Dean waited, unsure what to do. He was no therapist. No touchy-feely guy. All he could do was be here.

But maybe that was enough.

Cas shut his eyes and breathed.

“I’m…” Cas’s voice trailed off, and he bit his lip. But he got the sentence out. “I’m ready to talk about—about what happened.”

Dean nodded, his pulse picking up. “Okay.” Shit, what should he do? He shifted position on the couch to face Cas, crooking his right leg up and pulling his knee in next to the back cushion. Cas remained how he was, though, head down and eyes on his hands as he twisted and untwisted his fingers together.

Cas began. “My stepfather. Mom— when I was a little kid, my mom dated this guy Metatron Lugner, and after a while she married him. He was a good guy. At first.”

Something full of hatred was already starting to rage in Dean's chest, needing to know the face now that he had the name. He needed to know. He didn't want to know. He— _FOCUS, for fuck's sake,_ he told himself, even though Cas had fallen silent.

“Some— something else you should know,” Cas said finally. He unlocked his hands and, although they began to shake, he turned his left arm over, very deliberately exposing the skin underneath.

Scars.

Dean's mouth went dry as he realized what they all meant, gazing down at the varying sizes and positions. Cas slowly lifted his T-shirt sleeve up to his shoulder, and there were more there, thicker. “Cas…” he said, but couldn't find words. “I'm sorry,” he said.

He wondered how he hadn't noticed them before. How he'd been so blind. But Cas did have a habit of keeping his forearms close to him a lot of the times when wearing shorter sleeves. Almost unconsciously so, Dean realized now. And even then, the thicker ones were hidden higher up; it was harder to see the ones on his forearms from a casual distance unless someone was looking for them.

 _But still._ Jesus.

Cas shook his head. “Don't be. It's— I'm not ashamed of this part. It's just— it's part of me, it's— whatever. But I mean, as long as I'm opening up…” He shrugged, and rolled his sleeve back down. “This is easier for me to talk about, I guess.”

“Do you still—?”

“Yeah,” Cas admitted. “I know, I know. But— I'm honest with my therapist and doctor about it. I don't— I don't hide it anymore from them. I used to, though. I used to outright lie.”

Dean reached over and took his hand.

There were a good few minutes that went by with Cas bracing himself, gathering words, preparing. “Okay,” he began after a while. “I was… I was nine when it started. Um, I was fifteen when— when it ended. But when, uh, when it started, I was nine, and—we were watching some movie on TV, in—in the living room. In the dark.” His brow furrowed heavily. “I—I should have known _then_ , Dean, why did he have the _lights_ out?”

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “Hey. You couldn’t have known. You were a kid.”

Cas drew in a shaky breath and continued. “And—and he was—he was lying behind me on the couch we both were, and he…” He shut his eyes and his shoulders visibly rose and fell as he struggled to inhale. “He— he touched me.” Cas's whole body was trembling. “My—”

“Don't go into details, Cas, you don't have to,” Dean said, barely able to get the words out through the lump in his throat.

“I know,” Cas said. He battled for control; his grip on Dean's hand tightened as his gasps for air labored toward actual breathing again. Eventually he managed to begin again.

“And, um… after that, he pulled me back against him—” Cas broke off, shaking his head roughly, violently. His voice had been rushed and now it lost energy, completely dying.

“Oh, Cas…” Dean didn’t know what to say. That rage was building again; all he wanted to do right now was run out and track this bastard down. Kill him. But not before making him suffer. And what was killing _Dean_ was that he’d never be able to make Metatron suffer the way Cas had.

Instead, he squeezed Cas's hand, grounding him. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not _your_ fault,” Cas said, squeezing.

There were a few more minutes of Cas taking the time to prepare, to breathe, to brace himself again.

After a while, he continued. “So, so—then, after, he got up, and left. I was kind of… I don’t know… Numb? In shock? Something like that. I just _lay_ there, and he went outside, and I could hear him talking to my mom and Raph in the backyard like nothing happened. He was talking about some movie he heard was good. Wanted to know if they wanted to see it. Like everything was normal.”

“God,” Dean grunted with frustration.

“I know. ‘Why didn’t I say something that day?’” Cas asked with a mean tone toward himself. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure. I wish I had… I think.”

“No, I—I wasn’t judging you, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m—I’m _angry_. What the hell? What kind of…”

Cas stiffened, tension lifting his shoulders.

Dean shook his head furiously. “…kind of _asshole_ does that? Preys on a _kid_? I’d say he should go to hell, but frankly, hell’s _way_ too good for him, from where I’m standing.” He twined their fingers together. “You doing okay? Want anything—a break, or…?”

“No.” Cas took in another slow, shaky breath. “It’s fine.” He waited another moment, composing himself. “I’m not—I’m not sure why I…” He stopped abruptly and changed tactics. “It went on about the same until I was thirteen. There was touching, and talking…” A shadow darkened his face. “Like he was doing me a favor, he said once. Why—”

“Hey listen, you can— stop, leave it for another time, whatever. And remember what I said about details?” Dean asked, letting go of his hand. He hesitantly reached to rub Cas’s upper back, waiting and watching for signals that Cas might not be okay with being touched right now. There were none. “Is this— this okay?”

Cas sat up a little, leaning back into Dean’s rubbing and relaxing an infinitesimal amount. He had his palms pressed together in front of his face, and now he ran his fingers across his mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Swallowed. “Uh, so, it was mostly… just like that, for a few years.” Cas broke off for several seconds. “When I was thirteen, it went— it went further. For— for the first time.” Closed his eyes. “He— he said he knew I— knew I'd like it. But— but I didn't.”

Dean wanted to throw up. No, he wanted to demolish something. Some _one_. But he couldn’t, he knew. And the powerlessness made him want to scream. Furious but unable to do anything about it, he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

He pulled Cas to face him. “Hey,” he said huskily, barely able to speak, trapped between rage and helplessness. “C’mere. You’re okay.” He didn’t want Cas to see him breaking down too.

Cas collapsed into his arms, locking his own so tightly around Dean that it actually ached. He buried his face in Dean’s neck, and though he didn’t make much sound, Dean could feel the wetness from the tears as Cas began to cry.

-

Cas ended up falling asleep on the couch after that. Dean took a seat in the armchair and tried vainly to watch TV at low volume for a few minutes, but was unable to concentrate, instead watching his boyfriend.

He finally gave up and turned the TV off, wandering over to the balcony doors and staring out without seeing anything.

He couldn’t stop thinking of a helpless, innocent young Cas, confused and victimized and frozen with uncertainty afterward. An unknown adult male; Dean had no idea what Cas’s former stepfather looked like. Lying there patiently, waiting to make his move.

Dean balled up his fists and barely managed to keep himself from punching through the glass of the balcony doors. God. Fucking asshole…

And Cas hadn’t seen his father in years. Or, Dean remembered now, either of his brothers from his father’s side. What if the stepfather had taken full advantage of that? Thought “hey, here’s a lonely kid, needing a father figure…” and stepped right in for his chance?

 _… I need a drink or I’m gonna shoot something_ , Dean thought.

He turned away from the doors and checked on Cas on his way through the living room. Cas was frowning in his sleep. Somehow, he looked exhausted even while slumbering. Dean’s chest tightened.

He settled at the table outside the kitchen, taking a long drink and then sighing.

Dean hadn’t known what he was getting into when he and Cas had first gone out. Certainly, when they’d seen each other at Cas’s store for the first time after the hospital. It was hard to say whether he’d feel any different, though. He cared so much for the guy as it was… He couldn’t imagine things any other way.

They got along so well. How many nights had they spent together here or at his own apartment, watching movies that Dean was determined to bring Cas up to speed on? Or talking about small things in their lives, getting to know each other even better, or ignoring the TV and kissing a little?

And the way Cas talked him out of bad moods. From time to time when they met up after Dean got off work, a rough day would stay with him and he’d be cranky, apologizing but still embarrassingly sulky. Cas never once talked down to him or made him feel childish or anything for it, and he never overtly therapized him—he simply talked to Dean on the same level, empathizing where he could. “I know,” he’d say if Dean bitched about a difficult customer. “Those are hard for me to deal with, too. I had one last week.” Or if he couldn’t relate to something, he’d just listen, eyes on Dean like he was the only thing in the room.

Not to mention his sense of humor. It took Dean a bit to catch on to the way Cas joked—he had such a _dry_ humor that it sailed right over people’s heads most of the time, but the guy was funny. It was too bad when people didn’t get it—they missed out on so much.

Basically, at the beginning, if he’d known fully about Cas’s history? He’d have gotten involved with him anyway. It didn’t matter one bit. He was still the same stubborn, caring, perspicacious little badass Dean had grown so fond of.

Dean finished the last of his beer and set the bottle down, smiling affectionately in Cas’s direction.

His phone started chiming.

“Shit,” he muttered, hurrying to grab it from the coffee table before Cas woke up. He flipped it open and stroke quickly away, toward the bedroom. “Yeah.”

It was Bobby. There had been a call off for that evening and he wanted to know if Dean could come into the garage and pick up some more hours.

Dean cast a quick glance out into the living room. Cas shifted in his sleep.

He sighed. He really did need the hours. This sucked. “What time?”

After Dean hung up, he found his keys and shoved them into his pocket. Stepped into his boots. Bobby had said for him to come in at 7:00, and that was just over a half hour from now. He pretty much had only enough time to run home, change into his work shirt and name tag, and get to the garage. Shame they hadn’t been hanging out at _his_ apartment instead. They would have had a little more time there. As it was, there was hardly enough time now to even say goodbye.

Groaning softly, Dean shook his head before crouching down next to the sofa by Cas’s face. “Hey,” he said softly.

Cas made a soft noise of waking. His eyelids twitched and lashes fluttered before he opened confused blue eyes. “Mmm? Dean?”

“I gotta go in to work,” Dean murmured, keeping his voice at the low volume. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to wake up and I was gone or whatever. Bobby called.”

“’S all right,” Cas said sleepily, propping himself up on one elbow. He took in a mix of a deep breath and a sigh. “I know. Hope work goes well.” He reached his other hand forward and rested it against Dean’s face, smiling softly.

God, he didn’t wanna have to go. Dean covered Cas’s hand with his own. “Thanks. Me too.” He swallowed, a bit nervously. “You gonna be okay?”

Cas kept looking at him, but the corners of his lips drifted down somewhat. “Mmm. Yeah,” he said. “The—” He stopped and licked chapped lips. “The nap helped some.”

That _face_ , those _eyes_. Hell, everything about Castiel Novak, inside and out…

Fuck work.

Dean was seriously tempted to call Bobby back and say he couldn’t make it when he remembered he still hadn’t paid Benny back the seventy dollars he’d had to borrow to pay some of his electric bill last month. _Shit_. Damn summer…

Instead he offered a smile, knowing it probably wasn’t too convincing, and leaned in to kiss Cas. “I’ll miss you,” he said softly when they parted. “Sorry. I mean, I wouldn’t go but… I need the hours, it’s—”

Cas chuckled and twisted to sit up, their hands on Dean’s face separating with the movement. “I said it’s all right, Dean. I understand.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, okay, then. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Cas drew him closer, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and holding on for a moment. His face fit perfectly in the curve of Dean’s neck.

“You need anything, you call me, huh?” Dean held him tight, wondering if Cas would be okay after what he’d revealed today. Shit, was he being too much of a mother hen here? The guy _did_ have a therapist too, after all… “Or can—can you call Missouri or something if you need to? Dr. Mills? Anythi—”

“I’ll be _fine_ , Dean,” Cas said as he pulled away and ran his fingertips through the short hairs at the back of Dean’s head. “Go. Work hard, earn a bunch of money for pies or something.” He made a face. “Still don’t see why you like them so much, though. I can take them once in a while, but _you_ on the other hand…”

Dean grinned, feeling a little better. Fractionally. But hey. “I’ll change your mind yet. Just you wait.” One last kiss. “All right, I’ll see you later.”

He paused at the door and turned back. “Hey. Cas?”

“Mmm?” Cas pulled himself up to a proper sitting position and stretched his arms up over his head, backs of his wrists bumping together as he exhaled. He relaxed and turned. “What's wrong?”

Dean had opened his mouth, but he shut it now. How could— How could he ask? Was it his place t—

Something must have shown in his eyes, because a light of recognition scattered over Cas's face, along with uneasiness. Mixed with what Dean could tell was slight alarm, sadness, and anxiety. “...What? What happened to him?”

Once again, Dean tried to speak, but couldn't. He settled for nodding, and then added, “...I'm sorry, I didn't mean t—“

“No, it's okay,” Cas said. He gazed straight out, losing focus for a moment, absentmindedly twisting his fingers together.

Dean waited. After a beat, he took a single step forward closer into the living room, leaning partially against the dividing wall of the kitchen. He could be a minute or two late; he'd blame traffic. Something.

Cas took a deep breath. He rubbed his palms over his thighs, his hands running over the fabric in fast, almost too-rough motions. “It's a long story, and... one that's hard to get into right before you have to leave,” he said finally, head down.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Still without looking at Dean, Cas spoke again. “If—if you're wondering about an arrest, it...” He shook his head. “It never happened.”

Something anxious, something urgent and restless and desperate for action was beginning to thread its way through Dean's veins. He realized he was clenching and unclenching one fist, as if he longed to find this guy and make him wish the fuck he _had_ found a new home in prison.

_Not the time. Calm down. Please don't punch a hole in the wall here._

He breathed. Made himself shake his hand out, release the tension.

“I'm sorry,” Dean said instead, and there were a million reasons why in those two words that he didn't say out loud.

Cas nodded. “Yeah. Me too,” he muttered. He glanced over. “Hey. Sorry to bring you down right before work.”

“Please, like having to work with Ketch tonight won't do that?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I'd rather be here any day.”

Cas got to his feet, attempting a smile as he approached. He must have still been self-conscious, though, because he wasn't quite looking Dean in the eye. “Even with ...this mess?”

Dean watched him evenly, concerned. “Don't talk about it like that, like it's something on you. And yeah, I'd still rather be here any day. You could talk about, I don't know, beekeeping all night and I'd still have a better time.”

“I actually _do_ like bees.” Cas frowned at him. “I don't keep them, but I like learning about them—How'd you know?”

“I didn't, I just happened to get stung last week and it was a topic I pulled out of my ass.” Dean grinned. He felt a lot better when Cas smiled back for real. “Or you could talk about planes. You know I'm afraid of flying, right?”

Cas wound his arms around Dean in a fierce hug. “You should be afraid of getting fired if you don't get out of here in the next thirty seconds, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah...” Dean patted the back of Cas's shoulder as they parted. “Just means less time I have to work with Ketch.”

“We're supposed to be adults here, Dean.” There was a slight hint of a teasing glint in Cas's eyes that made it easier for Dean to have to leave. “Go. Go on.”

Dean sighed and stepped toward the door. “All right. Talk to you later?”

“Sure.” Cas gave him a reassuring smile, and Dean finally left.

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_

_-_


	17. We Need To Talk About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw (*discusses it in detail again with regard to grooming, and is possibly triggering*)
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Letting The Cables Sleep" again.

Two weeks later, Cas and Dean sat at a local lake with a thing of oats, watching and feeding the ducks from time to time, but mostly sitting wordlessly.

Dean was patient. He wasn’t going to push anything. If he waited, and if Cas wanted to talk about it, he would.

They’d been staring at the water and the ducks for a while. It was an unusually cooler day for July today, so there was only one other person out, far off to their left, wearing a lightweight gray jacket. Long, tangled dark hair blew behind them in the breeze. Dean thought it was a girl, but they were pretty far off and hard to make out, so he wasn't sure.

Cas had been brooding pretty much since the moment Dean picked him up, so on a whim he’d abandoned his plan to go to the movies and stopped at a dollar store, picking up some oats and driving without telling Cas where they were going. It was worth it, though, to see the expression on Cas’s face brighten when they pulled into the park and made their way to the side of the lake where a raft of ducks waited eagerly.

By this point, Dean knew Cas fairly well. And he knew Cas had something heavy on his mind. There wasn’t much to be done about it for now; he’d open up when he was ready. All Dean could do was sit with him.

They took their time and talked lightheartedly at first, discussing Dean’s job and Cas’s job, Charlie and Benny, Meg and Donna. Cas suggested a game of who could throw their oats the farthest. (Dean often won, but not always, and not by a clear margin. The levity of the game made Cas smile even when he lost.)

“You were right,” Cas nodded, uncrossing his legs after a while and stretching them out in front of him. He rubbed his knees for a second. “This was better than going to the movies.”

Dean grinned. “Yep. I have good ideas sometimes.” He hurled another handful and pressed a quick kiss to Cas’s temple.

Cas kept watching the water without saying anything else or throwing anymore, so Dean took a break, too. It was coming.

“So, about… what I told you,” Cas began. He picked up his keys and began to slide them around and around the main keyring.

Dean sat still. And when Cas didn’t go on, he said softly, “Yeah?”

“There’s more than what I said.” Cas began to take his car key off separate from the others, sliding it along the key ring carefully. “Umm…” He started in on his apartment key. As he pried the keyring up enough for the main entrance fob, his thumbnail broke. “Shit.” Still, he kept fiddling. When all the keys were removed, mailbox one included, he began simply adding them back. “I’ve… I’ve read so much about abuse, Dean, _so_ much, you have no idea…”

“I can imagine,” Dean said, though he really couldn’t. Not from Cas's perspective.

Cas took a deep breath. “And there’s—there’s some I don’t—I don’t always—it’s hard to find information about it from the point of view of male victims as it is. There’s so much information helpful to women, but…” He bit his lip. “And on top of that… There’s—there’s, uh, not a lot said about…” He fell silent again, pulling at some blades of grass and dropping them where they’d been plucked.

Dean reached for his hand tentatively, carefully checking for any sign that Cas didn’t want to be touched right now. But when his fingers grazed against Cas’s, Cas turned his hand over, slipping it under Dean’s to slide their palms together.

“I gotcha,” Dean murmured, holding on. “You’re okay.”

Cas’s jaw was wobbly. “I can’t say I’ve _never_ read anything about this part, but—but I mean… I feel so… so different, Dean. It’s bad enough I was abused, worse that it was my stepfather, but…”

Christ. How much worse could it… What the hell had the bastard _done_ to him?

Dean tightened his hand a fraction of an inch on Cas’s. Not enough to hurt, hell no, but enough that Cas knew he was there. Shit. He wished he was better at the words thing.

“It…” Cas clenched his eyes shut and then exhaled a short sentence as if it were one word. “Itwasn’tforced.”

There was a pause.

Cas opened his eyes and glanced over at Dean, waiting for his reaction. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. He had no idea what to say here. They were in such a breakable moment; he didn’t want to say the wrong thing and hurt Cas even more than he already had been. He was no psychologist, but he didn’t have to be to know responding negatively would do exactly that. “I heard you,” he said instead. “There's nothing to judge you for.”

“Dean—” Cas broke off, blinking rapidly. “Th-thank you.” He snatched at a handful of oats and flung them out. Ducks quickly flocked over to where they'd landed on the surface of the water. Cas brushed the back of his hand over his cheeks. “Sorry, I—”

Another hand squeeze. “It’s okay.”

They lapsed into silence again.

Dean still didn’t know what to say. His first thought had been, _It wasn’t?_ Which was exactly why he didn’t say it. Despite all the reading and stuff, he knew he wasn’t built for this kind of talky shit. So anything he thought first was automatically going to be the wrong thing to let out of his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cas using the top edge of his shirt to scrub at his face, sniffling quietly. Dean stroked his thumb along Cas’s hand.

He remembered some of the stuff he'd read about, something about grooming. Where the abuser was friendly, starting out nice and cool, making it seem normal, getting on the kid's good side.

Dean shivered at the thought.

Way too easily he could picture a younger Cas, unstable home life as it was from what he'd told Dean. Shy and awkward. Needing a stable father figure when things fractured even further between his parents.

The anger built again within him. _Fucking asshole…_

And— and— and his stepfather, neatly walking in, taking steps and preparing. Being nice, giving gifts, bribing, being the good guy. Doing anything it took to get Cas on his side.

Dean was furious all over again. It made sense. It made disgusting, _perfect_ sense. He wished he knew who this guy was so he could knock his head off.

But, he reminded himself, this was about _Cas_. Not some faceless bastard.

With effort, he pushed away the anger for now.

“When I was younger, before… before it all happened…” Cas began, and then fell silent again. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I don’t—this is—I can’t—”

Dean knocked his shoulder against Cas’s. “Take your time.” He let go of Cas’s hand to wrap his arm around him in a quick one-armed hug, rubbing Cas’s bicep before letting go. “I don’t have to be at work until…” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, something like 19 hours.”

That got a laugh, or at least a half-snicker with a polite smile. “Yeah. I know. Hopefully I won’t take _that_ long.” Cas leaned into him. He stared at the lake, the breeze picking back up and ruffling his hair.

Dean stayed silent, giving him as much time as Cas needed.

The wind stirred up ripples farther out on the lake, where there were no ducks.

Cas straightened up and twisted his fingers together as he tried again. “When I was… younger, I was always…” He swallowed. “They always warned me against strangers, first off. And… so I always thought… I assumed… I always thought if things like that happened, it was a stranger. Unwanted, forced, you know? The scary story. The van, the 'help me with directions' thing. The 'here, have some candy' thing. Someone I wouldn't know.”

“Mm-hmm…?” Dean wondered if he should bring up his theory.

Cas lowered his head, eyes on his interlocked fingers. “It really… It wasn’t, in my case. It—um, I always pictured it being like, just pure evil and scary on the adult’s side—”

“ _Abuser’s_ ,” Dean corrected. AKA asshat. AKA waste of a life.

“Yes, well… And, um…” Cas’s breath was shaky, and when he finally turned to Dean, his blue eyes were shining with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “That’s what gets me, Dean. That’s why I… why I didn’t say anything for so long. Until I was backed into a corner and had no other choice.” He shook his head, not making eye contact. “I mean… How the hell… do you tell someone _my stepfather abused me but—I went along with it_? Because he was _nice_ to me? Because he gave me _gifts_? And the line blurred somewhere? What kind of—of freak does that _make_ you?”

Dean shoved aside the thing of oats between them and shifted his position so he was facing Cas more fully. “C’mere,” he murmured, holding his arms open. Cas collapsed into them, and Dean rubbed his hands soothingly along his back. “You’re not a freak, okay? You’re _not_. And you know what else? It _wasn't_ going along with it. Not in any way.”

Cas held onto him like a drowning man, locking his arms around Dean’s neck as he cried. “But, Dean, i-if you could h-have seen it… Or heard the things I s-said…”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter, Cas.” Dean felt his own eyes welling up, along with some of the rage seeping back for that sick bastard who would target a _kid_. What the hell was the matter with—goddamn piece of shit— _Asshole_. “You were a kid, okay? It was on him. _All_ him. You were being manipulated. He knew goddamn well what he was doing. _You_ didn't.”

He felt more than saw Cas shaking his head. “Dammit, Dean, I _comforted_ him at times. I said it was—I told him—that we both had to keep it secret, that if it was found out—that it was up to both of us… Because I was going along with it too, it was okay, it was—”

Dean pulled back enough to look at Cas. He put his hands on the sides of Cas’s reddened, tear-soaked face. “Look, Cas. I don’t care what you said. I don’t care if you—” He stopped and edited his words at the last second, still trying to say things right, desperately trying to help in whatever way he could but not wanting to fuck up by saying the wrong words and upset Cas any further.

He tried again. “God, Cas. I don’t care _whatever you said_. It was _on him to say no._ It was on him to be the _adult_ , okay? Kids' and adults' brains are different. You said you did reading. Didn't you read about grooming?”

Cas was about to protest, but Dean cut him off before he could say anything. “No, Cas. Nothin’ on you, you hear me? _Nothing._ Not even if you said yes. I don’t give a damn. Kids don’t know what they’re doing half the time. How many times did me or Sam screw up when we were younger?” He made a face, crinkling his nose and eyes together. “Exhibit A, right here…”

That got a small attempt at a smile, but Dean could tell it was mostly for his benefit. But hey—at least Cas was trying. That, right there, made a difference.

Dean let go of Cas’s face and curled one hand against the back of his neck, feather-light and careful. He breathed. Cas did too.

He hoped Cas was taking his words to heart. Or at least taking them to mull over later, something like that. But he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. Even if they were to have a similar conversation on a semi-regular basis, or if Cas were to read words proclaiming his own innocence every day. It unfortunately wasn’t that simple, or so the reading material had told him. It took a lot of time.

Both of them were looking away from the other. Dean, particularly, was glancing in the direction of the parking lot and the Impala. A couple of times the sun had bounced sunrays off the paint, catching glints in Dean’s eyes before the light was chased away again.

He checked on Cas now. Cas was blinking, sending another wave of tears down his cheeks. “Dean… E-Everyone said I was so smart, from the time I was little… I can’t remember my teachers or mom _not_ telling me that, Dean.” He sniffled. “All those As and 100s, reading above my age level, the extra classes I took… I… If—if I was so smart, then… why… what was….what was _wrong_ with me?”

Dean leaned his forehead against Cas’s. “Not a damn thing. Intelligence isn’t the same as maturity. It’s _not_ , okay? And… dude, you were like, eleven or something when it started?”

“Nine.”

“Cas…” Fuck, that did it. Dean felt tears heating his own face as they spilled down. He hugged Cas to him again, tighter than he meant to. “Sorry. But god, that fucking sick asshole. If I _ever_ fucking see him, I swear I’ll—”

Cas gave a wet little half-laugh, half-cough. “Don’t. You’re no good to me in jail. Who’ll watch the _really_ shitty movies with me? I need someone to laugh at them with.”

Dean rolled his eyes and kept holding him. “Okay, fine. Whatever, babe.”

They sat like that for a couple minutes, soaking in each other’s body warmth. Gradually, though, the uncomfortable sitting position crept into their awareness and they separated.

Cas used the top of his sleeve to wipe his face. “Should’ve thought to bring napkins,” he said awkwardly, sniffling hard a couple times to avoid having to wipe his nose as well.

“It’s all right,” Dean said. He grabbed the sleeve of his outer shirt. “I got two layers. Want my shirt?”

“Dean!” Cas burst out in a bit of laughter. “That’s gross.” Affection all over his face.

Dean refused to listen to him and pulled off the shirt anyway, scrubbing his own face of the tear streaks first. “Take it. Plus, you got the little…” He waved a finger by his nose. “…the little snot bubble going.”

Cas’s eyes widened and he took the shirt, wiping at his cheeks and then nose.

“Heh. Now _that_ ’ _s_ gross,” Dean teased with a big smirky grin.

“You dick,” Cas said nasally, rolling his eyes.

Dean played footies with him. “Blow your nose and we’ll get back to feeding these guys, huh?”

“Okay, _Mom_ ,” Cas grumbled, the “Mom” sounding more like “Bob”, but he obliged. He dropped the overshirt into a crumpled pile on his other side. “Okay,” he said again, his voice a lot clearer. “Yeah. I think they’ve been waiting a bit, huh?”

“There you are, doin’ better, huh?” Dean retrieved the bag of oats and set it between their bent legs again. He kissed Cas, curling his fingers against the hair at the back of Cas’s neck again. “I love you,” he breathed when they parted, almost automatically.

Cas’s eyes were wide when Dean opened his own, and it wasn’t until then that Dean realized it was the first time he’d said it out loud to him. But it was true. He did. He loved this stunning man who was always just a half-step out of touch with the rest of the world, who had a thing for nature and a heart big enough to often get hurt but who never stopped caring, whose eyes were so blue Dean sometimes _still_ half-wondered if something got knocked loose in his brain that night behind the bar to make him hallucinate a new color.

Dean kissed him again and then sat back, feeling his back resonate with the ache of how long they’d leaned forward. He wanted to say it again, just for the hell of it. “Love you _so_ much.”

“I love you, too,” Cas said, smiling. A real one now. He picked up the bag. “But I bet I can throw these farther than you.”

Dean snorted. “Are you kidding me?”

The ducks were very, _very_ happy with them the rest of the afternoon.


	18. Meet the Parent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse mention, self-injury cw (Cas imagines SI when triggered but does not do so)

“You sure you want to do this?” Cas said, his voice totally lacking enthusiasm as Dean pulled up to his childhood home. “We can still bail. I mean it.”

Dean laughed. “Come on, Cas. She can't be _that_ bad.” He turned off the car.

Cas ran a hand over his mouth. “Oh, she is. And she isn't. At the same time. It's— it's hard to explain.” He saw Dean turn to him out of the corner of his eye. “I… You'll see.”

“I guess I will,” Dean nodded. He glanced out of the windshield, and then back to Cas. “Cause she's watching us right now.”

 _Fuck. Seriously, Mom?_ Cas groaned. “She would. Nosy…”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Wanna give her something to stare at?”

“Dean! Dammit, that's—!”

“I'm just kidding.” Dean laughed, turning away and opening his door. “Had to get you to laugh somehow! C'mon, let's go.”

-

They gathered together in the small kitchen. Naomi had offered them food; she always offered stuff to anybody that came over. Cas wasn't hungry, though.

“So… this is Dean,” he said nervously, eyes on the table. “Dean, this is my mom.”

He could tell they were shaking hands. “Nice to meet you”s were exchanged.

“Cas, why are you looking down?” Naomi asked. “What's wrong?”

That was her. Always pinpointing the thing he didn't want spoken. He didn't want to say _you make me nervous, Mom, I don't really wanna be here, but I still love you!_ , so what could he say? Cas took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. “I— Nothing, Mom. Just— just tired.”

Dean nudged his foot under the table in a show of support.

“You should try and get to bed earlier,” his mom said predictably.

“Doesn't help when I wake up a lot in the night,” Cas retorted. “But yeah. I know.”

She turned to Dean. “So what is it you do, Dean?”

“I'm a mechanic,” he said. “I love cars. Always have. I just…” Dean lifted his hands as if trying to express his feelings and then dropped them, making an _ahh_ noise. “It's so satisfying to see them come through the shop and be able to know what to do to fix them up, send them on their way, you know?”

Cas smiled. He loved seeing Dean look so happy like that. But…

“Cars,” Naomi said thoughtfully. She looked uncertain. “Remember when your dad liked cars that time?” she asked Cas.

“Yeah, Mom.” He tried not to roll his eyes. Liking cars wasn't a Big Terrible Thing. What the hell? Why the association with his father all of a sudden?

“I'm just saying. It reminded me.”

Cas lifted his shoulders. “Yeah, well, my father also liked writing, and Raph's wife likes to write. Is there a connection there?”

Naomi made a face. “You don't have to— I'm not— Whatever, Castiel.” She stood to get some more coffee.

When she was out of earshot enough, Dean said in a low voice, “Boy, I see what you mean…” Cas nodded subtly, not wanting to say anything else as he caught sight of his mother turning.

Things didn't exactly get worse from there, but they weren't perfect, either. They chatted about personal things, getting to know each other's personalities, and trivial, every-day small talk.

One good thing Cas appreciated was that not only did Naomi have absolutely zero problem with him dating a man; she was clearly happy and supportive about him having found someone. She had an actual light in her eyes and smiled genuinely as Cas and Dean sat next to each other on the couch in the living room, taking each other's hands when they discussed how long they'd been dating. Real affection came to her face, and for a moment Cas was genuinely proud to be her son.

But then she had to ruin it. “You ever think about going back to school, Cas?”

_Oh, here we go._

School was a rough subject. To say the least. Not only had he been forced to take a leave of absence the previous fall, but it had been just after his second school year ended last year when everything hit the fan. Him finally opening up— way, way too late and too pointlessly— about the abuse. Staying with his grandparents. His mom worrying Metatron would get vindictive, and her panicking and finding a shelter to stay in for a month at the same time (unfortunately, since Cas was over eighteen, he wasn't able to stay there too, hence him staying at Pop-Pop and Nana's).

He stared down, at the carpet, at his arms and free left hand. He stared at the untanned underside of his left arm, the familiar lines that marked his life story.

Dean squeezed his other hand. “Cas,” he said so softly it was almost inaudible. “You okay in there?”

He could practically feel the sharp steel, the burn of the wound as he wiped it clean, could hear the harsh rip of medical tape peeled off a roll, arm hairs caught in the tape as it was applied—

_Hold it together, Novak, fucking calm down._

Cas lifted his head. He swallowed.

He wasn't there anymore. He was here. Current time. Current place. Wake _up_ , dammit.

“I— No, Mom,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes, looking at the wall, the pattern of the curtains. “Not yet, anyway. It's— Maybe someday. I have time still.”

“And hey, there's always online school.” Dean knocked his shoulder against Cas's. “Lot of options here.”

Naomi gestured in agreement in the edge of Cas's peripheral vision. “Right, I forgot about that. Good idea, Dean.” She sighed. “I just thought it might help. You always enjoyed school, I mean…”

Cas shrugged. “Yeah. Like I said, maybe I will at some point. I don't— I don't know right now, though.”

There was another short, uncomfortable silence.

He looked out the window again and really took notice of how the light was changing. It wasn't getting _seriously_ late, necessarily, and neither he nor Dean had to work particularly early the next day, but they still could probably make a break for it sometime soon. Of course, it was kind of an awkward time now after that bit; maybe he should wait a while and then suggest leaving?

But he didn't need to, as it turned out. Naomi got to her feet, brushing her thighs off. “Well,” she said. “I have to take my friend Inias to an appointment tomorrow morning. I'd like to have you over longer…”

“Nah, you're good,” Dean said reassuringly. “We were thinking about heading out soon anyway.” He got to his feet. Cas followed. “It was good to meet you.” He took Naomi's hand and shook it firmly. “Good woman. Good meeting you.”

She smiled and nodded. “The same to you, Dean. Cas, thanks for bringing him over.” A hug, and then Cas was free to escape.

-

“Phew. I… yeah.”

“You see what I mean?”

“Preeeeetty much,” Dean said, shaking his head. “She is something else.”

Cas leaned his elbow on the windowsill, his forehead against his hand. “And it's— it's hard to describe, it's not something you can really pin down or say, exactly, it's just sort of the… Her attitude, almost? The _way_ she says things? I don't know.” He sighed. “I always feel like I'm exaggerating when I'm talking about her.”

Dean reached over to squeeze Cas's left hand. “No. No, you're not. I get it. Parents can be rough.”

They drove on.

After a minute or two, Dean spoke again. “So, so— what was that bit about school? When you got all quiet? I could— I knew it upset you, but I didn't know why.” He paused, then added. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

“It's fine.” Cas straightened up from the window. Took a deep breath and watched the road, absently noting the colors of the cars that passed them. Gray, blue, red, gray, white, black, purple. “I— when it all happened was right after my second year, last year. I never got to go back to my third year. That's— that's pretty much it.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Me too.”

Blue car, green car, two gray ones, red car, white.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh, you ever think of going back? To school, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Cas said. “At some point. I don't know when, though.” He drummed his fingertips against the window ledge. “Kind of… I'm not sure what I'm waiting on.” At first he'd been distracted by the whole moving out and getting a regular job thing— it was a bit of a change, living on his own… But then after a while it had seemed like he was using it as an excuse. He shook the thought away and said no more.

And Dean didn't press him. Cas appreciated that.

They kept going. A soft rain started, lightly, dotting the windshield. Not enough for the windows to be rolled up yet. The air felt better now, cooler and cleaner, cutting through the humidity from earlier. And as they drove, the rain gradually picked up; soon enough they found themselves rolling the windows up after all, albeit not all the way to the top. There was no need to use the window wipers for the moment.

Most of the rest of the way, they rode in silence, but a comfortable, companionable one. It was easy, familiar, the same way as Dean's hand felt entwined with Cas's.

He found himself smiling, completely out of his control, as he realized how content he was just being here in this car with Dean. He never thought he'd be able to feel this relaxed and safe with somebody— but he'd never met somebody like Dean before.

A soft little scoff-laugh made him turn. “What?”

Dean was looking at him with a teasing glint. “What are you smiling about?” He glanced back at the road, grinning.

Cas shook his head. “Just some dork I'm in love with,” he mumbled, not even bothering to hide it.

Dean didn't say anything, but Cas could see his blush. It only made him love Dean more.


	19. I Never Could Explain: part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food cw, panic attack, fire cw (fire is in the context of a Japanese Steakhouse)
> 
> Chapter title comes from Fuel's "Falls On Me."

Cas could almost taste the soup already as Dean steered the Impala into the parking lot of Kobe Steakhouse. He hadn't been here in at least a couple of years, and he was practically salivating just thinking of the last time he'd eaten here. He'd come with Donna and Meg and had chicken fried rice.

Since it wasn't his first time and it was theirs, when the cook got the fire going, Cas had trained his phone on his friends. They'd all laughed at the picture of the girls' startled, amazed expressions; Donna had had a delighted glow on her face— she'd looked especially young and pretty. Meg was amused, and it was great to see her so happy.

The Impala's engine sputtered to a stop, and they sat in the abrupt silence for a moment. Dean turned to Cas. “You, uh, you sure you wanna eat here?”

Cas frowned. “Why? You don't like Japanese?”

“No— n-no, that's not it.” Dean cleared his throat. “Just uh, I've heard this place is a little on the pricey side. You sure we can afford it?”

Cas fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead patted his hip near his wallet. “Yes, Dean. You know I got overtime last week. Don't worry about it.” He squeezed Dean's knee. “Hey— if you're short, I got you too. Okay?”

“Technically, _you're_ short,” Dean grumbled, but not without a flash of affection in his face. Cas leaned in to kiss his cheek, but Dean turned so their lips met. “Okay, fine,” he relented as they parted. “For you.”

“And for you,” Cas said. “You'll have fun. And their food's good here, I promise.” He kissed Dean again before pulling away. “All right?”

Dean removed the keys from the ignition. “All right. Let's go.”

-

They were greeted and shown to a table. Two women (one dark-haired, one red-haired) sat at one end with a young boy with curly black hair, a little girl with long blonde hair, and a toddler boy who also had blonde hair hanging in his eyes. Closer to Dean and Cas were a dark-haired man and a blonde girl, both wearing wedding rings.

They got their menus and studied them. Cas frowned absently, scanning down and perusing a few different options. _Hmm…_

They ordered and waited. Eventually, they were served their soup and salads. Both were good, and both were types that Cas wouldn't have selected for himself before but that he'd found he enjoyed after coming here before with Donna and Meg. Meg didn't care for the soup, though, so she gave it to Donna.

As Cas went through both the soup and salad, he eventually took notice of a wiggly motion next to him against his leg. He checked. Dean was bouncing his leg as he ate, a constant unsettling motion that rattled up through Cas's own.

“Dean—” He frowned, swallowing his bite of salad. “Dean, what's wrong?”

“Mmm?”

Down at the other end, the woman with darker hair was staring at him. No, wait, not at him, at the wall over his shoulder. She realized suddenly that Cas was looking at her and blinked, refocusing her attention on her food. “Sorry. Spacing out.”

Cas shrugged and turned back to Dean. “You're fidgeting,” he said quietly. “What's wrong?” Was he really this against their food? “Are you okay?”

Dean took a small breath, setting his glass down. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.” He flashed that smile again. “Maybe I had a little too much caffeine earlier. Something like that.”

“Want my salad…?” the woman from the other end was asking her friend.

“If you're sure,” Cas said, eyes on Dean. Somehow he had the feeling Dean was holding something else back. But what? “You're not allergic to anything here, are you? It's okay.”

Dean grinned and shook his head. “Nah. He nudged Cas's foot under the table. “I'm good.” Clearing his throat, he clapped one hand against Cas's shoulder. “Just fine, babe.”

Everything was going well after they ordered. Cas and Dean talked and joked with each other, and Cas was able to forget his concerns for a short while.

Sometime later, Dean was talking about a conversation he'd had with his friend Benny, amusement all over his face. “…and I said, 'yeah, I'm sure _you_ lie, but how do you know for _sure_ you don't get lied to? What if _that's_ a lie?'” Dean snickered. “Man, you should've seen the look he had!”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “It's a valid question, though,” he pointed out, poking into his salad and taking a huge bite. “He can't be sure if someone's lying when they say they're not lying.”

Dean snorted. “Not the point, babe. Sometimes it's fun just to dick with him.” The corners of his lips turned up and he got those wrinkles near his eyes. “Guy's great, don't get me wrong, but man, every now and then…” He chuckled.

“Gaia, you have your own!” the dark-haired man seated closer to them exclaimed, pulling his plate away.

His wife laughed. “Yeah, but yours looked better.”

“They're the same thing!”

Cas was wondering if their main food was ready when he happened to look up and see a man walking toward them with a cart full of plates and ready-to-cook food. _Oh, great timing…_

He nudged Dean. “Okay, ready?” This was always fun.

Dean was quiet.

Their cook brandished a few spatulas and other tools for a moment and then sprayed the stove-like surface in the middle of their table with some sort of oil. Cas grinned and happened to glance over to see Dean's reaction, but his smile began fading as he took in Dean's expression.

He was more than quiet. He was pale. His breathing was barely noticeable.

“Dean?” Cas asked.

The cook ignited the oil.

-

_Hot air, so bright, can't tell the air apart from the flames doesn't matter both will kill run run or don't doesn't matter fire air both will kill_

“dean”

_gotta get out gotta get out no no where's mom where's dad sam what the hell is going on can't say hell but this IS hell what's going on run run help_

“Dean!”

_wait here's dad here's sammy gotta run gotta take him outside but it's so hot what if I drop him I can't mess this up dad i'm just a kid help help please where's mom_

“—is he gonna be okay?”

“Dean, I'm here, breathe, just breathe…”

_coughing, I can't, can't move, too far to the door, what if we both— and hey it's dad again I can sleep this is a dream just a terrible dream_

“Should we call someone? An ambulance?”

“No, he'll come out of it, he'll want to decide himself.”

_and the night air so cool, so welcome, this is real now, that hell (oh mom's gonna yell at you for saying that word) wasn't real, none of it happened, you can wake up now it's okay it's okay it's okay you're safe, you're both safe, you're all okay_

He opened his eyes wearily.

Water painting of some pond or something. Blues, greens, swirling and mixing together, the painting so old and cheap enough that parts of it were flaking away here and there. Dean recognized it as the one they'd walked past when they entered; they must be sitting near the door.

Cas had him pulled back against his chest and was holding Dean steady, one arm across Dean's torso and the other gently stroking against his forehead. “Shhh,” he murmured. “I'm here,” he said. Two employees stood off to the side, waiting.

God, this was humiliating. Dean's eyelids slid shut again just from the exhaustion and embarrassment.

Eventually he mustered up the balls to straighten free from Cas's grip. “I'm— I'm awake,” he muttered, not meeting anyone's gaze.

“Do you need medical help?” one of the employees asked quietly. Dean vaguely recognized her voice from the time he'd been out.

He shook his head. “No. No, I'll be fine.”

Cas took his hand, but thankfully didn't say anything. Dean squeezed back in gratitude.

“Is there anything we can do?” the other worker asked.

Dean sighed. “No, but I wish I could undo that. Sorry.”

“Oh, no, please, don't apologize,” the first employee said, taking a seat next to him. “It happens. You're fine.” God, he was such a basket case, they had to treat him with kid gloves…

There was a silence for a few moments.

Finally, Cas spoke. “I think we'll just head on home for a bit,” he said, running his thumb along the back of Dean's hand. “Get some rest.”

Dean nodded, wordlessly agreeing.

“That sounds like a good idea,” said the second worker. “I hope you feel better.” He offered a little pitying smile and Dean died a little more inside.


	20. I Never Could Explain, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw (Dean hints at emotional abuse from childhood)
> 
> Title again comes from Fuel's "Falls On Me."

It wasn’t until they were back at Cas’s apartment and doing small errands that Dean started talking about what had happened. “So. I, uh… Was kinda hoping you’d never end up seeing that,” he began uncomfortably, starting to do the dishes. Probably to have something to focus on instead of this conversation, Cas figured.

Cas picked up a dish towel and began to dry them as Dean worked, waiting for elaboration.

“See, you already know Sam’s and my mom died when we were little, but what you don’t know is—it was, it was, uh—” Dean struggled with his words and stared at a glass for a long few seconds before rinsing it. “It was a fire—”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said, gently cutting him off and stepping closer. “I’m so sorry.” God, he’d had _no_ idea… Here he’d been taking up so much of the relationship energy with _his_ issues and Dean had all this too. Cas hugged Dean for several long moments, needing the tangible feeling of him in his arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had panic attacks, though?” he asked after they’d let go.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, I should be able to handle it. I’m a grown-ass adult and I’m still freaking out because of something tha—”

“‘—because of something that happened when I was a kid’?” Cas finished with an admonishing lift of one eyebrow. “Hi. Careful.”

Dean flushed and dropped his head as he scrubbed a pan, hiding his face. “I… didn’t mean it like that, babe.”

“Well, what goes for me goes for you, too,” Cas called, knocking his shoulder against Dean's and continuing to dry. He set the pan aside. “Asking for help isn’t weak. Those clichés are clichés for a reason.”

Dean sighed, washing a bowl.

“Have you at least seen anyone for them?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, early on in high school, I think,” Dean said. “I was like 14, maybe? And after they asked about the fire, they also got to asking ‘how does your father treat you?’ a couple times and I got so pissed, I just never went back after that.”

He was tellingly quiet for a moment.

_Oh, no. Dean, no._

Cas knew. Suddenly. His hands tightened around a plate he was drying.

There was more than the fire.

As if they were on the same wavelength, Dean broke the silence. “Yeah, I'm not talking about anything serious, like what you went through,” he said. “Just kind of, I don't know, yelling and shit. I don't want to talk about it too much.” He scratched his eyebrow and kept scrubbing the dishes, moving on to the silverware.

Cas frowned. “And Sam. Did he ever—”

“End up screwed up like me?” Dean handed him a spoon, shaking his head . “No, actually. Kid lucked out. He, uh—” He sighed, a defeated sound. “Sam didn’t get it like I did,” he said, his voice losing volume with the next words. “Sometimes if we were both around and—and I knew Dad was—was really mad that day…”

Cas’s heart skipped a beat. Dean didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. He obviously did something as a kid to “make” their father go off so that when the inevitable happened, it would be his “fault.” It didn’t matter that just the fact that he had to be put in that position meant that it was still _John’s_ fault; Dean probably still had serious, complicated issues remaining to this day, self-blame being one of them.

He moved closer; Dean remained standing in front of the sink, staring blankly at the few pieces of silverware that remained to be finished. Cas turned the water off, pulling Dean away. “Come here,” he said simply. “C’mon, let’s go lie down.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbled, not resisting as Cas led him to the living room couch.

They curled up together as best they could, with Cas behind Dean. Cas’s couch wasn’t really built for two full grown adult men; it was fine when he slept out here now and again, but even spooning was sometimes hard to maneuver. Still, though, they managed, and Dean flipped idly through the channels on the TV before settling on some random movie.

It didn't escape Cas the weird coincidence that they'd both come from abusive households. He almost felt bad that Dean knew about his background first, though he recognized the lack of logic in that thinking. _You're enough as you are_ , he thought, running a hand along Dean's hair before leaning forward to kiss his jaw. “You are enough, Dean Winchester,” Cas breathed.

Dean was quiet. Cas stayed in silence as well, draping his arm around Dean but otherwise leaving him alone. After a couple of minutes, Dean moved his feet back and slotted his calves with Cas’s. His breathing grew longer and more relaxed, and minutes later Cas realized he’d fallen asleep.

 _Today took a lot out of you_ , Cas thought, tempted to lift his head to see Dean’s face once more. He didn’t want to risk waking him up this soon, though, and instead looked past him at some commercial on the TV, not registering any of it. He was thinking instead of the dusting of freckles over Dean’s face and the way his nose curved just slightly, of the narrow little patches of skin on either sides of his mouth where Dean’s beard never grew in for some reason, of how sharply defined Dean’s lips were and their surprising shade of pink, of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes fanning out when he laughed, of the irresistibly jade green of his eyes.

_You’re fucking gorgeous. It’s not fair._

Cas’s view was half-obscured by Dean’s head, so he leaned forward and inhaled the smell of the shampoo Dean always used, its scent comforting now but something Cas had rolled his eyes about at first. All these years later, Dean still had a tendency to go for the basic, generic, just-the-facts-ma’am bottles.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to buy ten- or twenty-dollar bottles or anything,” Cas had complained when Dean had first invited him to his apartment, staring in mock horror at the half-empty bottles in Dean’s shower. “But… dollar store brand? Really? Get some good shampoo. Get something a _little_ more expensive. An entire dollar more, even!”

Dean had laughed and tousled Cas’s hair with both hands before explaining that _Sam_ was the one to really worry about his hair. “He was the one to get the ‘good shampoos’,” Dean had said with a half-smile, affectionately mocking Cas’s term with air quotes. “Conditioner and all. He… Yeah, you should’ve seen him when we were growing up. He always had his hair a little longer than it could have been, too. Dad hated it. Sometimes I think that’s _why_ he did it. I wonder if he’s sti…” And then the smile had faded, the look on his face got pensive, and Cas had tactfully changed the subject, not wanting to press things.

Cas inhaled again now, appreciating the smell in a way he’d grown fond of over the nearly four months they’d been together. “I love you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the back of Dean’s neck. And after a while, he fell asleep as well.


	21. Another Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: money/financial issues, food cw

Dean was so screwed.

He stared down at the papers, shuffled through them, but the numbers weren't changing. He could do the math again, but he already knew it. Already knew he wasn't going to be able to pay his electric bill this month. God. He really, _really_ didn't want to have to borrow money from Benny again. “Fuck,” he muttered, dropping the bill onto his side table and getting to his feet, pacing to the window and then the kitchen and back again. “Fuck, _fuck_ fuck fuck…”

Outside, he could just make out Cas's car heading down the road toward his apartment building.

He could pick up extra shifts. He _should_ pick up extra shifts. There was that whole “ending up in the hospital” thing, but that was a fluke. He'd have to make sure not to go out drinking on the tail end of a bunch of overtime shifts.

Dean groaned and rested his hands against the windowsill, sighing heavily. God.

Cas parked and got out. He was carrying a plastic bag from work and seemed to be in a good mood. Halfway to Dean's apartment, he looked up and caught a glimpse of Dean. “Hey,” he mouthed, smiling.

Dean nodded and waved, still feeling tense as hell.

A few minutes later his door opened. “Hi, you,” Cas said.

“Hey,” Dean said, turning. He rubbed the back of his neck. Tried to feign happiness. “What's up?”

Cas frowned. “Are— What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Dean shook his head, throwing on his best flirtatious grin. “You look great, how's it goin'?”

“No, what's going on?” Cas set the bag down on a small table near the door and came closer. “Dean, you look— you look really upset.” He grasped one of Dean's hands and searched his eyes. “Talk to me.”

He sighed. “Jesus, I can't tell if that's helpful or creepy, you reading me like that.” Dean swallowed hard and looked away. “I'm falling behind in my bills again,” he admitted. “They're— Probably gonna have my electric off next month. I can't pay. Water won't be too far behind. Only thing I'm keeping up on really is rent, and that's— barely keeping my head above water on that one.”

Cas stared into his eyes for a few seconds without saying anything. He pulled Dean over to the couch. “Dean, come sit down with me,” he said.

“Okay.”

They sat. No noise, nothing. Rare; Cas always liked something going on in the background to fill the quiet. But they both seemed to have enough going on in their heads that outside noise would have just been extra.

Cas's hands were warm in Dean's. He liked that.

“Dean, I've been thinking about something,” Cas said. “And…” He started stumbling over his words. It was adorable. “Feel— Feel free to say— to say no, I won't— it's not, not— I won't take offense.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his adoration for the guy starting to override his current mood. “Go on.”

Cas didn't meet his eyes, instead concentrating on their hands. “What would you think of us moving— moving in together? It would save us both money, I— I don't care what apartment, either would work, but I have two bedrooms at mine, you could use my guest bedroom, they have a pool at my place but I haven't tried it yet, we could—”

“Sounds good.”

“—figure out whatever you could pay for now or work on fifty percent or somethi—” Cas was going so fast with his proposal he didn't even realize Dean had already agreed. He stopped suddenly and looked up, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Dean laughed. “I said, 'sounds good.' Slow down a little, breathe, huh?”

Cas grinned at him. “Oh! Well. Okay, then! That— Great! All right. So— Yeah. We're roommates now.”

“I think a little more than, but yeah.” Dean leaned forward, and they kissed. “Saves us both some money. Get to see each other more often… Hey, what if we drive each other up the wall?” he wondered suddenly, unsure.

“I wouldn't have offered if I had a one-bedroom,” Cas said with a teasing look on his face. “Anyway. I guess we'll just see how it goes. If we do end up not being good as roommates, then…” He shrugged. “I'm not sure. But with all the time we've spent around each other as it is, I think we'd have figured that out already.”

“That's— Not _quite_ the same as living together, Cas,” Dean said, amused at his optimism. “Still. We'll hope for the best, huh?”

-

As it turned out, though, things did end up working. For the first couple of weeks there were a few wrinkles as Dean unpacked and they got used to each other's routines and way of living, and more than a few quarrels and quibbles popped up. Lights being left on, dishes not being rinsed, temperature preferences, whose turn it was to take the trash out… Eventually, though, they ironed everything out and learned to work with each other and not against each other.

Thankfully.

Because Dean didn't really have a second plan here. Charlie was great, but she already had a roommate. And Benny was good, but after all the times he'd had to borrow money from him, Dean didn't want to impose on him by moving in too. And as for finding another apartment? Well, the place he'd been in was already about the cheapest he could find.

If he'd moved into the same apartment complex as Cas and had his own apartment, his rent would have been higher in a single unit. But by splitting the rent and utilities, he definitely saved money. It wasn't a windfall by far, but it helped.

And, of course, there was the whole thing where he got to watch Cas wander into the kitchen grumpy-faced and morning-haired. God, he was adorable.

Dean was standing by the stove, making some scrambled eggs, when Cas stumbled in, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh,” he groaned, still half-asleep.

Dean nodded at him. “Morning.”

“It's not morning,” Cas corrected, squinting at the clock over Dean's shoulder.

“It is for you, sunshine.” Dean checked the eggs.

“What the hell are you so happy about?” Cas headed over to the coffeepot and stuck a cup under it, turning it on, glaring.

Dean looked over at his boyfriend. Cas had a couple different cowlicks at weird angles and there was a definite trace of dried drool on one cheek.

Dean grinned. “You're so gorgeous,” he said. “That's all.”

Cas flipped him off and poured sugar and creamer into his coffee.


	22. Dean's Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: fire cw (in the past), food cw

Dean had been living there for a few weeks when Cas woke up one night to a sound he was too sleep-confused to try and identify. It was something he knew, was deeply familiar with—yet altogether new somehow.

_Go back to sleep_ , he thought fuzzily, distantly realizing how strange his line of thinking was. He stretched and turned over to his other side, curling into a comma position again.

An unknown amount of time later, Cas woke up dry-mouthed. He made his way to the kitchen and opened a bottle of water from the fridge, drinking half of it before heading back to his room.

On the way back, he heard a noise. The noise—He remembered hearing it the first time now. Strange. It was almost as if… Cas’s heart skipped a beat.

He left his room and headed out through the area of the living room between his and Dean’s bedrooms, stopping just outside of the Dean’s door. “Dean?” he called, pausing in front of the barely ajar door. “A-are you okay?”

There was a pause. Then, “F-f-fine, Cas.” The voice gave him away, even if Cas hadn’t already had a feeling something was wrong.

“Can I come in?”

Dean didn’t answer for a moment again. Cas could hear him take a long, controlled deep breath. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.”

Cas pushed at the door. It swung open noiselessly, and he stepped in. Dean was lying facing away from him toward the window, almost motionless but for the subtle motion of his back as he breathed. The light from the living room fell through the hallway, and into the room, faintly illuminating the skin of his bare shoulders and back.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, walking in farther. He sat on the other side of the bed and waited.

He realized, as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, that the sheets were somewhat damp with perspiration. Dean had been sweating profusely before he’d managed to wake himself up and rip free from whatever bad dreams grasped him.

Dean didn’t say anything. Or move. Cas scooted back and pulled his feet up on the bed, patient and not wanting to pry. He examined his fingernails and darted a glance at the man next to him out of the corner of his eyes.

After several minutes, Dean sighed and rolled onto his back, not meeting Cas’s curious gaze. “My—” His voice cracked, and he cleared it. “Um. Y-you know my mom died when I was 4, right? In the fire?”

Cas nodded, still toying with his nails. Instantly he knew Dean must have had a nightmare of that evening, and his heart twisted with concern and pain. But he remained silent. He knew in this moment, Dean needed to speak on his own for now.

“My parents were out of town, and they had this f-friend of theirs, Azazel, watch me and Sam.” Dean inhaled roughly. “He was—was a good guy. Really. I don’t remember much, but I—I do remember some small things he did. Like you know that thing where you have kids stand on your feet and, you know, walk ’em around? Shit like that.”

“Mm-hmm,” Cas said. He felt like he should say more, but he also felt like he’d be playing therapist if he did, and it seemed ridiculous. What could he really add, anyway? “ _Sounds like it was fun”_?

Outside the apartment, they listened as a car drove past, and the sound faded into the distance. Cas shifted closer on the bed, tentative but wanting to reassure them that he was there. He slid his hand over Dean’s. Dean interlaced their fingers together.

“Anyway… that night, he played with us, fed us, put a movie on, probably, and tucked us into bed,” Dean continued. “Then he went downstairs to smoke.”

_Oh._ Oh, no. No. Cas was absolutely silent.

“Azazel didn’t mean to fall asleep,” said Dean. “But he did. And when my parents came home, the house was on fire.” He swallowed and his words began stumbling over themselves as he struggled to get the story out. “My—my parents got home and Dad, upstairs, but he told my mom to go to the neighbors to call 911, but—but she didn’t. He ran in to get us and—and things got confused, I don’t know, she followed him anyway—”

Cas made a gentle _uhh-uhh_ noise. “It’s okay, Dean, you don’t have to—”

“No, I have to, Cas.” Dean took several deep breaths, staring down at the sweat-drenched blankets. “I can—I can do this. I—Uh, it turned out that they’d both ran in to get us out, but my mom and Azazel didn’t make it. Dad—Dad told me years later, he saw them at one point, he saw Mom had tried to help get Azazel out, and—” He shook his head too rapidly, as if being electrocuted.

“Oh, Dean…” Cas’s heart ached. He couldn’t imagine how terrifying it all was, how young Dean had been, how it had haunted him this long. And he’d just shelved it. Set it aside while Cas whined about his own issues… “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed Dean’s hand and rubbed his thumb across Dean’s own.

“I, I, um, I woke up, and—and my dad was there, grabbing me out of bed, and he had Sammy too, and then he was giving me to him and telling me to—to go downstairs and get out of the house…” Dean’s voice broke a few times. “So, um, um, I—” Dean continued with the same rough and raspy edge to his voice. “Dad found me and Sam on the stairs, I think, and carried us the rest of the way, and everywhere was so—so bright. I remember thinking I was still dreaming. And then we were outside and it was like cold water, how sudden it was, and I—I… ”

“There’s nothing for some time, and I think I must have passed out or something.” He dragged the back of his hand roughly across his cheeks.

“Shhh. It’s okay. Come here. It’s okay, Dean.” Cas pulled him into his arms, his throat thick and the words difficult to speak. “It’s okay.”

Dean fell into his arms helplessly, his tears against Cas’s shoulder. He grasped at the sides of the shirt Cas was sleeping in, his hands trembling, needing an anchor.

Cas rubbed at Dean’s back, the expanse of warm, bare skin a surprising and startling feeling under his hand. He was all right, though. For one, he had a more important issue on his mind at the moment (obviously), and for another, his own shirt was still on. He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and kept stroking his back, humming softly.

Finally, Dean’s tremors faded and he pulled away. “Um. Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, clearly ashamed.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Cas told him. He rested both hands alongside Dean’s face. “Don’t apologize, though. Hmm? You have nothing to apologize for. Remember what I told you before?”

Dean nodded, his face pale and eyes downcast. Cas leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. “I love you, you know that?” he breathed as they parted.

“I know,” Dean said. “Me too.” His hands had never left Cas’s back and sides. He swallowed. “Um. I was, I was…” He couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. A hint of red rose up through his cheeks.

Cas regarded him fondly. “Are you asking if you want me to stay here? I will.”

Dean looked away. “I mean, I know if—and—”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas said. He glanced at the sweat-soaked sheets. “But, uh, we could change these first. Might be cold otherwise?” He threw a teasing tone in his voice.

“Nah, go ahead, I was gonna suggest it too,” said Dean. “I do sweat a lot during bad dreams,” he added, with the faintest bit of embarrassed humor in his voice as he scrambled up so they could strip the sheets.

-

Once the bed was remade, they settled in. Dean always had a tendency to sleep on the side closest to the window, and he did that as usual now, with Cas sliding in next to him, both on their sides. Dean didn’t sleep with any lights on in his bedroom, as Cas did. So the only light trickled in from the living room and through the hall, and badly at that due to the way the apartment was laid out.

It got to be a bit unnerving. After a while, Cas sat up. “I’m gonna, just, um…”

He thought he saw Dean frown in confusion. “Okay…”

Cas returned moments later with a small nightlight and plugged it in on “his” side of the room. “There. Sorry, the dark kind of, uh…”

In the new, brighter light of the room, Dean’s expression changed. “It’s no problem, Cas.”

“No.” Cas shook his head. “Not that, actually. Just a preference.”

They fell quiet, awkward and uncertain.

Cas noticed something. He wasn’t staring or anything, but—Every time Dean was about to fall asleep, he’d jolt awake again, head snapping up, as if fighting sleep. Consciously or subconsciously. Cas wasn’t sure.

The third time or so that it happened, Cas reached up and ran a hand along Dean’s bicep. “Hey.”

Dean flushed.

“I’ll be here, huh? If you have another nightmare.” Dean looked away from him, not meeting Cas’s eyes, and Cas rethought. He wondered. Okay, Dean was going to sleep with thoughts of the nightmare—and memories of it still on his mind freshly reopened.

What could Cas do to flip that?

“Tell me about her,” Cas said softly. “Didn’t you say she liked the Beatles?”

Dean met his gaze. “Y-yeah,” he mumbled. “She did. She—she used to sing me and Sammy Hey Jude.” Some shadow of a smile played at the corner of his lips.

“That’s sweet.” Cas stroked Dean’s arm and shuffled in closer. “Tell me more.”

“She used to— she used to make me tomato-rice soup when I was sick,” Dean said. “Same as her mom made her.” He looked thoughtful; he looked a little more peaceful.

Cas kept at it like that, prompting Dean in a gentle voice about Mary. Trying to draw out comforting memories and moods to buffer the trauma of the raw wounds reopened. And gradually, Dean’s answers started to become less verbose, more spaces growing around the words that remained, until he was completely out and Cas was almost there too.

He gazed across at the man in his arms and couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the space just between his eyebrows. _Sleep better_ , he thought, he prayed, his last coherent thought before falling after Dean.

-

Waking up was both comforting and hilarious. Cas slowly became aware of an unfamiliar, buzzing guttering directly under him and above his head, rumbling through the otherwise calm morning. Then he realized the warmth of Dean’s skin, his chest in Cas’s arms. Cas was nearly vicelocked onto him.

He slid back, figuring he should get up soon anyway. “Unnn,” he groaned, yawning and scratching an itch on his upper arm. He watched Dean turn onto one side toward him. Cas hid a tired, gleeful smirk.

The snores tapered off and stopped. Dean scowled and opened one eye. “Heyy,” he muttered grumpily.

Cas grinned. “You snore.”

“And you drool.” Dean dragged part of the covers across his chest to wipe it off. “Gross.”

It was ridiculously domestic. But Cas did have to work later, so he should probably go ahead and get up. “I’m getting breakfast,” he said as he stood up and stretched his arms over his head.

“Mmm,” Dean whined sleepily. “I wan’ bacon. French toast. Anything bad for you.”

Cas snorted on his way out the door. “Yeah. I was thinking more like cereal?”

-

It was actually really nice, Cas reflected later. Waking up with Dean like that… He couldn’t keep a smile off his face and sipped his coffee, marveling at the small moment of contentment for once.

He was scooping up the last of his Froot Loops when Dean came out of the bedroom. “Morning,” he said, now wearing a shirt. He made a face at Cas’s bowl. “Huh. Thought you, uh, wanted healthier stuff? Ruled out the whole bacon thing?”

Cas glanced at him from between of the top of his eyelashes, half-focused on chasing two last Loops with his spoon. “I meant more that I didn’t feel like cooking. But you go on ahead.”

“All right, fine. Lazy…” Dean’s muttering trailed off as he wandered into the kitchen, only to be replaced by a yelp of joy. “Hey!” He leaned down, peeking through the separation of the wall between the kitchen and the living room. “Cas. You didn’t have to—!”

Cas smiled at him. “It wasn’t _that_ bad,” he teased gently. “And I made myself some too. Grab me a couple things of bacon, huh?”

A few minutes later Dean had joined Cas, beaming down at a plate of the French toast and bacon Cas had whipped up while he’d stayed in bed. “Can’t believe you did all this,” he marveled, drizzling syrup over his French toast. How hadn't he smelled it before?

“Yes, well, don’t expect it every morning,” Cas said. He drained the last of his coffee and nudged Dean’s foot under the table.


	23. Sharing A Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: medication mention (prescriptions)

They continued to sleep in separate bedrooms for a while after that, but Cas had been carrying with him the feeling of warmth and comfort for a few days. Honestly, he was considering them sharing the same room.

He thought about it for another few days, and finally just brought it up one morning. Dean had to work that day, but not for a couple more hours; Cas, meanwhile, worked a later shift that afternoon.

“Hey,” Cas said, holding his coffee cup in both hands. “What would— what would you think if we…”

For some reason he stopped. It was ridiculous, but he felt shy all of a sudden.

Dean was about to take a drink of his own coffee, but set it down. “Mmm?” he asked, looking concerned. “'S on your mind? You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Cas smiled and exhaled; a small mixture of a sigh and a half-laugh. Dean was always ready to worry. Not just about Cas and his history— he'd seen Dean do this with his friends, when they hung out with Charlie. Or like the previous week when they went to lunch so Cas could meet Benny, and at one point Benny had complained about a bit of trouble with his family members. “It's nothing bad, don't worry,” Cas went on. “You're going to give yourself an ulcer one of these days, Dean. Calm down.”

“Sorry.” Dean shook his head and chuckled at himself. “I— Uh, yeah. Go on.”

It was easy, then, to broach the subject. Cas rested his elbows on the table in a slight cross-armed stance, leaning forward a little. “The other— the other night, when, um, when you had the nightmare…” He paused. “Sorry, I don't wanna—”

“No, it's okay,” Dean said. “I've had bad dreams before. Go on.”

“I just— wasn't sure if—” Cas swallowed the uncertainty and continued. “It was, uh, nice. Being in the same room with you the next morning.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Me too.” He took another drink of his own coffee. “All— all domestic and shit, you know? Right down to you drooling.”

“Shut up…” Cas rolled his eyes. Was he _never_ going to live down the drooling thing? “Anyway. Feel free to say no to this. But— But I was wondering if—”

Dean figured it out; his eyes widened and he set the mug down somewhat harder than he meant to. “You— you mean stay in the same room? In the same— Cas, are you ready for that?”

Cas honestly didn't know. But the way he figured, he _would_ never know one way or the other definitively, would he? “I don't know for sure,” he said slowly, thinking as he spoke. “It's not like it would be a never-going-back kind of thing for you to move in there. We could try one night, see how it goes.”

“Could also sleep on top of the covers for a while, see if that helps,” Dean suggested. “Just, you know, nothing underneath for a while, not until we see how you're affected.”

Cas nodded. “Yeah, that too.” He unfolded his arms, reached across to squeeze Dean's hand. “So… tonight, then?”

“Sure.” Dean squeezed back.

-

Dean normally slept without a shirt. He didn't parade around the apartment without one because he wasn't sure if it would bother Cas or not; instead, he'd throw on a T-shirt and either sweatpants or shorts (depending on the weather), and whenever he went to bed, he usually pulled the shirt off as he climbed into bed. That night, though, as he dressed after his shower, he planned to keep it on all through the night.

He was nervous. He wasn't sure how evident it was, but he was.

Actually, in a weird way, from what he could tell of the way Cas had been at breakfast and before they'd both had to leave for work, he himself might have been more nervous than _Cas_ was. Strange.

For lack of anything better to do to occupy his mind as he waited for Cas to get back from work, Dean started to organize things in a few cabinets in the kitchen. Various containers, pots and pans, and appliances had been put back more and more haphazardly and although Cas was generally fine with it, it was starting to get to Dean, and was something he'd been meaning to get around to it anyway.

And that's where Cas found him an hour later— still at work organizing, jars of pasta sauce strewn out on the counter with cans of vegetables and soup mixed among coffee tubs, boxes of macaroni, fruit cocktails, and other miscellaneous non-perishables. Dishes were partially pulled out and sorted on the other countertop.

Cas grinned. “What's all this?” he asked, setting a bag on the stove, the only available surface – barely – in the kitchen and unpacking a bag of chips, dip, and a quart of milk. “You do know I _work_ at a store, right? I don't feel like coming home and opening my own.”

“Ha-ha,” Dean said. “I started organizing the lower cabinets, and— Well, one thing led to another.”

“Clearly.” Cas put the dip and the milk away. “Want some help?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure…”

It took them a while, but they'd figured out a better system to put things away. Dean had been going for a large-to-small sort of system, but then Cas hit on a different idea involving “lunch foods” and “dinner foods.” Dean was quick to point out that someone could have, for example, soup both at dinner _or_ lunch, and why limit your cabinets that way?

But the idea of categorizing things similar to types of food did appeal to him as more of a better way to find them later, so they tweaked it a bit and went with a version of Cas's idea after all.

After that, they kicked back with a couple drinks (both soda this time) and channel surfed for a little while. There wasn't anything good on. Cas lounged back against Dean's chest and pointed out that if he drank, they could play a drinking game every time there was either an insulting commercial or one where the volume went jarringly loud.

“Or one for product placement in these reality shows,” Dean laughed. “I mean, if I could sit through them.”

Cas elbowed him. “Don't know why you still try to put on that pretense. You know I've caught you watching _What Not to Wear_ like three times already…”

Dean cringed. Busted.

“What time is it, anyway?” Cas yawned. “I'm getting kinda tired. Don't know about you.”

Dean nodded and checked his watch, careful not to jostle Cas too much. “Uh, 1:17,” he said. “I could sleep.” He could sleep right here on the couch, truth be told.

Cas sat up and stretched. “All right… Oh, wait, almost forgot my pills,” he said, looking at the little opening in the wall between the kitchen and the living room where he kept his prescriptions together in a Medi-Set. Dean watched as he wandered over, cracking open the appropriate section and holding them in his palm, retrieving a glass of water.

He wondered something, watching Cas take the pills. Cas made it look so easy, so simple, so _not a big deal_. Like taking vitamins. Everything to do with mental stuff, Cas just dealt with and worked with like this was the way it was for everyone and always had been, so why freak out about it? From his counselor appointments to his medications, to med side effects and having open discussions with his psychiatrist about what was working— it didn't matter. It was a part of his life he accepted with remarkable grace.

Would it be such a big deal if Dean were to take similar steps?

_“I always knew you were crazy, son—”_

He forced his father's voice to shut off in his head.

There was no certainty that going to a therapist meant being prescribed medication. That was a whole separate person. And even if it was something that was in Dean's future— well, look at the man right there in front of him, walking toward him with that soft light in his eyes and a tentative smile. He clearly had no problem with it. “Bedtime?” Cas asked gently.

Dean shelved the thoughts for now. “Yeah. Sure.”

-

They lied there, quietly, waiting.

“You know what this feels like?” Cas said.

Dean shook his head.

“It feels like we're on a sleepover or something. And any minute, my mom's going to poke her head in and tell us to go to sleep.” Cas's eyes glittered with humor.

“It kind of does, yeah,” Dean agreed. He hadn't had the chance to go on many sleepovers himself, but it did have a similar feel. “I was gonna say it almost feels like Christmas, too.”

Cas grinned. “It does! That sort of gleeful little excitement where you can't help but stay awake.” He actually giggled, covering his mouth; Dean knew he sometimes got self-conscious about how much of his gums showed when he smiled.

“God, you're cute,” Dean whispered. He didn't know why he was whispering. They were the only two people in the apartment. They were adults. It somehow fit the moment, though. And he couldn't stop grinning, either.

He didn't have the heart to let Cas know that he really hadn't had a _lot_ of those Christmases. Just a few. But this moment more than made up for all of that, so it didn't matter, ultimately.

“You comfortable?” Cas asked. “I can get you another pillow.”

“I'm fine,” Dean said. He toed Cas's foot. “You?”

“Yeah, I'm good. We should really try and sleep, though.”

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“All right.”

They both closed their eyes. Or at least Dean did— he couldn't be sure about Cas.

This attempt lasted pretty well. Better than the last one, anyway. They made it all of ten minutes before they were both open-eyed and whisperchatting again.

“You know,” Cas said after they'd been discussing a problem Dean had had with a coworker at Singer's Auto Repair. “This may not be a good idea, but for reasons we completely didn't see coming.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, but isn't it great? I feel like a damn teenager.”

“Me too.” Cas covered his face. “Oh my god. I have an earlier shift tomorrow. I can't be all cranky— I need to actually get some sleep.”

Dean poked Cas's cheek lightly. “Yoouu'rrre grum-pyy in the morrrn-nings,” he said in a sing-song.

“You snore!” Cas said, batting Dean's hand away. “Don't think I've forgotten that!”

“Oh man.” Dean sighed. It turned into a yawn, though—reminding him he was actually tired. “Wow. We— we _really_ are hopeless, aren't we? God…”

Cas stretched his feet straight out. “Just a bit. All right. I'll— I'll try if you will.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“Good night.”

“Same to you.” Dean flopped over onto his other side. He could hear Cas doing so, too.

…Well, this was helping for the whole “not laying there giggling and talking like teenagers” thing, but it wasn't doing anything for his ability to get to sleep. At all. And he honestly was tired. It had been a long day at Bobby's; he'd either been leaning over hoods or dealing with shitty customers or rolling under engines all day long. He should have passed out five minutes after turning onto his other side.

Nothing, though. Weird.

He heard shifting of the bed and figured Cas had the right idea. Dean turned onto his other side, facing him once more. “Hi again,” he said.

“Hey,” Cas said, his voice sounding sleepier but still alert. “Wanna really try to sleep this time?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Cas left it at that, but he smiled at Dean.

Later, Dean wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact moment he fell asleep, but at some point, it must have worked. Consciousness faded, dreams took over, their indefinable nature hard to track down and remember the next morning, and before he knew it, he was waking up to Cas's alarm. And a bunch of bedhead in his face, drool against his neck. And those barnacle-like gripping arms and legs wrapped around him.

“What?” Cas said when he finally pried himself off Dean, almost scowling with confusion at the way Dean was watching him.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Your face is perfect.”

And Cas rolled his eyes as he got up.


	24. Naomi Comes With News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, alcohol cw

Groaning, Dean pushed himself up off the couch. If that was Mr. Campbell again from down the hall, he’d just pretend he wasn’t there, or sleeping, whichever.

He peered through the peephole and mentally cringed. It was Cas’s mother. _Fuck…_ He liked her fine, really he did, but he just wasn't up to socializing tonight. She'd been over a few times in the two months since he'd been living here, and he always worried he wasn't _good enough_ or whatever for Cas. Even though she showed no sign of disapproving of him.

Hmm. Maybe it was his own insecurities.

Whatever.

“Hello, Naomi,” Dean said, opening the door with a polite smile. “How are you?”

Naomi gave him a tight-lipped smile right back, though it almost resembled a grimace, she was so obviously on edge. “Hi, Dean. Is Castiel home?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. He works till ten-thirty tonight. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh—n-nothing.” She twisted her fingers together and glanced at the floor. Took a deep breath and seemed to decide on something. “I have something for him. From his… his brother.”

Cas’s _brother_?

Dean stared blankly, taken aback.

“His brother Gabriel,” Naomi went on, her voice softer now, losing its usual confidence. “I, um, I ran into him a month ago. He said he wants to see Cas.”

Something wasn’t right here. Cas _hated_ his brother. Both of them. And especially his father. Full blown I Have No Father syndrome. This was serious.

Dean crossed the living room, sinking down in his armchair. “Shit,” he muttered, wiping a hand down his face. He glanced up at the door. Naomi was standing there awkwardly, fiddling with something in her purse. “Oh! Sorry. Uh, come on in.”

“Thank you.” She stepped in and curtly closed the door before sitting on the edge of the couch.

There was an awkward little moment.

“Uh, do you want something to drink, or…?” Dean finally asked.

“No, thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, Cas doesn’t really talk about Gabriel, or anyone on his dad’s side of the family,” he began. “I brought it up once or twice myself and he almost bit my head off.”

Naomi sighed heavily. “That’s partially my fault, I’m sorry to say,” she said. “I did him no small favor when he was growing up, I—I was just so _frustrated_ , Dean, and his father was so unreliable and hard to deal with sometimes. His visits were spaced out and irregular and Castiel didn’t always know when he’d be coming by… And M—and his stepfather had isolated us so completely I had no outlets, I—” She cut herself off and closed her eyes, taking a second to compose herself. “I messed up, Dean. I talked badly about his father, and I’m afraid Castiel internalized a lot of that.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? His father walked out on him years ago.” He wasn’t sure what this letter business had to do with it, either.

She shook her head. “It’s much more complicated than we all realized… Chuck didn’t—He wasn’t—He _wanted_ to be there in Castiel’s life. He _did_. But… he—all of his letters, his calls—” She shook her head and broke off.

Dean leaned back and crossed his arms. _Don’t even tell me…_ “You don’t mean…” He squinted suspiciously.

“No, not me,” Naomi said. “ _Metatron._ ”

The name was a shockwave, blasting them into silence.

-

Dean could see it so easily.

Cards for Cas’s birthday or Christmas, letters asking how he was or maybe apologizing for that fight—and none of them reaching Cas’s eyes. _Return to Sender_ scrawled on all of them with a thick hand.

Phone calls ignored, the caller ID erased. Or sometimes answered and hung up on. Dean wasn’t sure how Metatron would have handled answering the phone when Cas and Naomi were around, but clearly he’d found a way around it.

Visits, every time Chuck might have shown up at the door denied with “He doesn’t want _you_ anymore” or “He doesn’t want anything to do with your family.”

And Cas knowing about none of it.

“H-how long?” Dean asked hoarsely after a while, when the quiet became unbearable and he could no longer stand his own mind.

Naomi played with a zipper pull on her purse. “I don’t know. Chuck said he tried for years to contact Castiel, from the time he was a child until… I’m not sure when Chuck gave up, but he did say he went to Castiel’s high school graduation. He said he wanted to see him, even if—” Her voice broke. “Even if people had long since poisoned his son against him.”

Oh, hell. This was all so goddamned heavy. What the hell was Dean supposed to do about it?

“Poisoned?” he asked. “You don’t mean—when you talked to him about his dad—”

She looked devastated, tears quickly falling. “I swear, I didn’t _mean_ to, Dean. I _didn’t_. I don’t—Sometimes I don’t think before I talk, and Castiel was so hurt, I didn’t—I—” Naomi dug into a section of her purse, coming up with nothing after a moment. “I—do you have tissues?” Her voice was low, clogged with muffled sobs.

Dean nodded and quickly snagged the small box of Kleenex from the side table at the other end of the couch, out of Naomi’s view. “Here you go.” He plunked it down on the coffee table in front of her, taking a seat in his armchair again and twisting his fingers together uncomfortably.

Naomi quickly and efficiently wiped her face and blew her nose. “I’m so sorry,” she sniffled, swallowing hard. “I’m not normally like this, but…”

Dean made a face, torn between _It’s a rough subject_ and _It’s about time you showed you were human_. He had a feeling he didn’t exactly look reassuring, but whatever. He shrugged. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said.

They waited a few more minutes without speaking.

“I… I didn’t _actively_ try to turn him against his father, understand,” Naomi said when she was somewhat calmer. “But… Castiel was… I could tell he was hurt, and especially when he was younger, he was blaming himself for his father not being around more. ‘Why me? What’s wrong with me?’ So I thought… maybe if I let him know that his father wasn’t that dependable in the first place, that he had flaws too… I just wanted him to know _it wasn’t him, it was Chuck_.” She folded a new tissue into fourths and dabbed at one eye. “Not that—that Chuck was entirely a bad person—but Castiel was _so young,_ Dean, how could he ever be to blame for what was happening?”

She sighed. “I don't know if Cas told you about that last fight he saw, but—“

“Sort of.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “He sort of hinted about it but didn't go into detail.” And he hadn't wanted to press Cas about it.”

Naomi was clearly unsure of how much to say. “Well, suffice to say that it involved a legal issue about him, and he witnessed too much of it and I'm sure blamed himself.” She shook her head.

There was another moment where neither of them spoke, awkwardness filling the room.

She tried again. “And then there was having to live with Metatron. And him pushing everybody away. I—I had nobody, Dean. _No one._ ” She looked suddenly young and vulnerable, pleading to him with watery blue eyes. “None of my friends were comfortable coming to the house anymore, and we drifted apart. None of Castiel’s friends, either, the few that he had. Sometimes they would continue to come over, but even then, Metatron did his best to actively ignore them, and Castiel, or—or start arguing with me over the tiniest things, just so there was an atmosphere of…” Naomi trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

She steeled herself and went on. “It—it was a hard house to live in. It still is. Even after the divorce. Too many memories.” She sighed. “If I could, I'd move. But it's already been paid off and I don't—I couldn't afford a new one even if I sell it.”

“Naomi, Chuck was still Cas’s _father_ ,” Dean said, returning to the topic.

She nodded. “Yes. He was. Is. And as Castiel got older, he’d start talking about him more, but bitterly. Always so bitter. I didn’t clue in on what was going on inside his head. I don’t think _he_ knew himself, either, come to think of it. So I told him over and over again that he could see Chuck whenever he wanted. He just had to ask. And Castiel always said no.”

God.

Cas was stubborn, Dean knew that much firsthand. He was willing to bet that once Cas had decided he didn’t want anything to do with his father, he’d staked everything he had on it and hell, wrapped part of his identity around it. His real father didn’t want him, he thought, and his _stepfather_ …

He’d been more or less fatherless.

Or so he’d believed.

“I’m getting a beer,” Dean said, standing again. “Can—may—uh—can I get you anything?”

Naomi shook her head.

It occurred to him in the kitchen that a lot of Cas’s animosity toward his father’s side of the family (at least when he’d been a teenager and it first started building) could be misplaced anger toward the stepfather he wasn’t able to hate as actively. At least, not at that point in his life yet. It would look suspicious; people might have started wondering _why_ he hated his stepfather so acutely. His real father, out of the picture and supposedly uncaring, was a much safer target.

Dean whistled under his breath as he twisted the top off a bottle. _Damn… And I thought things with_ my _dad were complicated._

He sat back down with the beer, practically memorizing the design on the label. “So…” Dean took a long drink for want of anything else to do. Needing to do something with himself, fiddle with something, anything but just fucking _sit_ there. “What’s this about a letter?” After all, the letter was from Cas’s _brother_. Not his father.

She opened her purse, the sound of the zipper amplified in the quiet of the apartment’s troubled atmosphere, and pulled out a business-sized envelope. It was a little thick; obviously Gabriel had used at least two sheets or more. “Here,” Naomi said, holding it out.

Dean took the letter. Cas’s name was written on the front very neatly—overly so, he thought—in small print. He chewed on the inside of his lip and studied the way Gabriel had written his letter S. It was so similar to Cas’s, a small flourish crossing back to the right from the bottom curve.

He shook himself out of it and set his bottle down on the coffee table. “Okay,” he muttered. Coughed. “Yeah. I can’t promise he’ll wanna read it, but uh, yeah. I’ll give it to him.” He could do that much, right? And whatever was in the letter, he'd be there, however he could. For Cas.

Naomi let out a slow exhalation, her shoulders slumped. “That’s all I ask,” she said, looking despondent.

Despite Dean’s not liking Naomi much, he couldn’t help but feel for her a little as he lightly traced his fingertip along the top of the envelope. What a shitty situation. She’d needed someone to vent to; she’d been a victim of Metatron’s psychological abuse and its isolating effects too. Plus, from the few snippets he’d managed to glean from Cas now and then, his father didn’t sound as if he was very dependable to begin with when Cas was little.

_Still_ , though. Because of Naomi’s initial (inadvertent) actions, the wheels had been set in motion. Cas was already hurt by the fight he’d witnessed, a fight that to his developing mind probably seemed to be because of him. His fault. Even though it wasn't. And Naomi’s venting about Cas’s father had gone so much deeper than she ever could have intended.

Then there was Metatron, playing it up for all it was worth.

And now? So much had been lost to Cas.

So much _of_ Cas had been lost.

He’d lacked a stable—okay, semi-stable, two parent (or two household) family system. Not that it was perfect, but it would have been millions of times better regardless. And spiraling out from that, he’d lost contact with his brothers as well.

He’d been forced to shoulder the burden of being a friend to his mother as well as her son, a _kid_. Of being emotional support to an adult and carrying responsibilities he shouldn’t have known about for years. God, if Dean didn’t know what _that_ felt like…

He’d been backed into a corner little by little, all support systems withering away or turned down due to his own crumbling self-worth.

He’d probably lost out on friendships at school, too, due to his increasing shyness and decreasing mental health. Dean remembered Cas telling him how he used to be annoyingly perky when he first started school, before everything happened. And another time, when Cas had told him how he really didn’t have friends in the same school after Donna had moved. Dean could too easily imagine him, sitting alone at lunchtimes, being the lonely kid on a swing at recess… God.

He was slowly, step by step, left the perfect prey for Metatron to reach out and grasp.

He’d suffered within himself for years and years, debilitating low self-esteem forced even lower by how firmly convinced he was that he was to blame for the abuse too.

He’d taken that self-hatred out quite literally on his own skin over and over. Dean felt suddenly dizzy.

“Okay, um, you, uh, you should go,” Dean said abruptly, setting the letter down next to his beer. He saw the crestfallen look on Naomi’s face and quickly went on. “Cas is gonna be home soon and—and—and I don’t think he’s ready for this subject yet, so… At least—not right after a long night at work anyway.” He was babbling, he knew, but he didn't want her in his apartment anymore. Anger was starting to boil up in him and he _really_ didn’t want to end up saying something he’d regret.

“All right,” Naomi agreed, rising to her feet. “Please let him know I was here. And—and when he reads the letter…” She trailed off again as she walked to the door, looking at Dean imploringly.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell him. I’ll have him call you either way.”

“Thank you.” Naomi smiled awkwardly, and then she was gone.

He waited, watching through the balcony doors until he saw her walking to her Buick to make sure she was out of earshot, and then he snatched the beer bottle off the coffee table, flinging it into the opposite wall with all his strength. He followed it up with the rest of the glass bottles from the fridge until his anger had burned itself out and he was left, panting for air, with a pile of broken glass and frustration that curled around him, refusing to leave.


	25. In Through Your Wall Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: self-injury (act is off-screen, but the aftermath is discussed and Cas requires stitches afterward)
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Your Wall" by Revis.

Cas trudged up the stairs, wondering vacantly if his feet or back ached more. He’d had to do a lot of walking today, but there were a lot of things to unpack that had to be placed up higher on the shelves. So there was a lot of reaching up too.

Well, he was home now. In a few minutes he’d be able to stretch out on the couch. Maybe with Dean giving him a backrub. Cas’s lips twitched at the thought. And hey, it was only a quarter until nine—for him, that was a pretty early night.

He switched the plastic bag of groceries into his other hand and unlocked the door. Dean was probably home, he figured, but they made it a habit of keeping the door locked anyway.

And there he was in his armchair, Cas saw a few seconds later as he stepped inside. “Hey, hon,” he said, pulling his keys from the lock and shutting the door behind him. The smell of beer lingered and he frowned, absently curious in the back of his mind.

“Hey,” Dean said.

Cas didn’t notice Dean’s expression right away. He did take note of a small damp area on the carpet, though, at the base of the right wall. He frowned, mildly curious, but shrugged it off. Clearly, Dean had spilled a bottle at some point. No big deal.

He set the bag on the table, unpacking the few things he’d snagged on his way out of work: paper towels, strawberries, a loaf of bread, a box of Pop-Tarts, and a thing of tape. He turned, balling the plastic bag up. “So, I forgot to grab the Scrubbing Bubb—”

He stopped.

Dean wasn’t looking at him. He was leaning forward slightly, eyes on the carpet and elbows on his thighs. His fingers were braided together and his entire body was tense.

“Babe?” Cas walked over and touched his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” said Dean. He sighed and glanced up at him, offering a small, unconvincing smile.

Something white at the corner of Cas’s vision drew his attention. He turned his head.

There was an envelope on the coffee table, with his own name written very neatly. In a vaguely familiar handwriting. Cas frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up.

“Take a sea—uh, you should sit down,” Dean told him, fumbling with his words awkwardly

Cas stopped with his finger under the flap. “Okaayy…” But he did, crossing between Dean and the coffee table to sit at the edge of the couch. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean visibly braced himself. “So. Here’s the thing, Cas. It’s nothing bad, I promise. Your—your mom stopped by, okay?”

His mother? Cas squinted, turning his head slightly to the side, away from Dean. What in the _world_ could this be about? He could feel his pulse already picking up merely from Dean’s uneasiness.

“She—she talked to, uh… She ran into your brother earlier,” Dean began. “Last month,” he said.

 _His brother?_ Which one?

It didn’t matter. They were both the same. Both deserters.

Cas’s heart pounded; his breath quickened. “No,” he mumbled.

“Your brother Gabriel. No, don’t worry, he's okay, nothing happened to your brothers or whatever,” Dean said hurriedly, sensing Cas’s distress and reaching for his arm.

Cas shrank away, withdrawing into himself. He swallowed hard, feeling his walls go up with the subject. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good. He wanted nothing to do with them.

Out of nowhere, he realized he was still holding the damn letter. Come to think of it… Yes, this was _Gabriel’s_ handwriting. Cas tossed it away from him, onto the ground.

“He wants to see you,” Dean said gently. “Gabriel. Your brothers, your father? They didn’t want to leave you. None of them did. It was—it was your stepfather, _he_ was blocking them, Cas. They didn’t abandon you. They care about you. They always have.”

Blood was rushing in Cas’s ears. He pulled one of the pillows into his lap, scooting himself against the back cushion of the couch. No.

Dean spoke softer. “And—Gabriel gave your mom a letter to give to you. She brought it by today.”

Cas darted his gaze down to the envelope in horror. “No,” he gasped. “No, he doesn’t want me, they don’t want me.”

“Cas, it’s okay, you don’t have to decide anything right now,” Dean said. “I just—you should know…”

“No,” Cas said again. “None of them want anything to _do_ with me!”

“Babe, talk to me.” Dean’s gaze searched his. “I’m—I’m sorry this is upsetting you. Are you—Breathe, okay? It’ll be okay. It’s just a letter, it won’t hurt you.”

Cas shook his head violently. “No. No, they don’t—this isn’t happening. They don’t want me,” he blurted again. “This is—this is a trick.” He shoved the pillow aside and stumbled to his feet, nearly losing his balance. “They don't want me.”

Dean reached out and steadied him, his green eyes wide. “Cas…”

Cas backed away. “No. Don’t. Don’t touch me,” he said urgently.

“Calm—uh, it’s gonna be all right, just breathe.” Dean was looking a little shaky himself. “You don’t have to—you don't have to call him or—or anyone, she just wanted you to read the—”

Cas ran for their bedroom.

“—the letter, Cas, wait!”

-

Dean got to the door just as it was slammed in his face. He twisted the knob, but Cas had locked it from the inside. “Cas!” He knocked rapidly.

“No!” Cas’s voice raised in a way it rarely did.

“Let me in, babe, please,” Dean begged. Panic began welling up within him. Explosive, ramping up out of control— _fuck_ , he should have waited till tomorrow— What had he been thinking, and now Cas was over the edge—

“I can’t _do_ this!” Cas yelled.

Dean twisted the doorknob again, knowing it was pointless but desperate and needing to try anyway. Anything. _Breathe already_ , he told himself, _don't freak out_ , _how can I not? gotta give him space_. “Cas, please!” he called again, frantic. “ _Please!_ Just let me in.”

“Leave me _alone_ ,” came a frighteningly calm, grated reply.

Dean slid down the wall next to the door, his breath splintering and splitting into ragged pieces. Don't panic don't panic—

He knocked against the door, softer, with less strength from earlier. “ _Please_ , baby, please let me in,” he pleaded. “I ca—can’t—Just—”

There was a soft noise just above him, and then the door unlocked and swung open.

Dean looked up at his boyfriend. Cas looked fine other than the redness in his face from crying. Not a speck of blood on him; nothing showed through his clothes yet. “Babe,” he whispered, crumpling to his feet and gathering Dean in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

They sat like that in the doorway for several moments, holding each other and crying. Finally, Dean pulled back, roughly brushing the back of his hand over his cheeks. “Um,” he said awkwardly. “Your—your, um... Are you…?”

He never asked about the injuries afterward. Ever. As a rule. Cas knew what to do to take care of himself. Dean worried endlessly, of course, but pushing him on it or mother-henning would only make things worse. For both of them. Cas would feel boxed in and lash out; Dean would end up depending on needing someone to take care of, same as he had when he and Sam were young. They wouldn’t get very far twisted in on themselves that way.

This, on the other hand, was different tonight. Dean was scared to death Cas might have gone too far this time—he was certainly upset enough. He just needed the… Well, “peace of mind” was the wrong phrase to use, but he needed _something_.

Cas looked at him for a long time, his blue eyes filled with uncertainty and trust, love and fear. Finally, he dropped his gaze. “I…” He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to; his inability to talk said volumes. If he’d had things under control, he would have told Dean right away.

They made their way into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

Dean’s gaze flickered over to the nightstand and the aftermath. Cas had tried to hide his blade, probably out of his habit of being tactful. But underneath a book with a wallet on top of it, Dean could see the very edge peeking out. His heart thudded.

The trash held more evidence: peelings and wrappers.

Dean swallowed hard and glanced over at Cas. They stayed there, patient and silent, scared and anxious, waiting.

Finally, Cas spoke. “I, um, I have Band-Aids and stuff over them,” he mumbled, head down. He lifted his hand to his mouth and toyed with his lower lip, scratching at a chapped area. “But they’re—they’re bleeding more—more than, um, I thought they would.”

“Okay.” Dean wondered where they were, but decided not to ask. “What do you want to do?” His pulse sounded as fast in his ears as it had earlier, but Dean could tell it was starting to slow a little.

Cas’s eyebrows drew up in alarm. He looked like he was going to cry all over again.

“Cas? Babe… you okay?”

After a moment, Cas stopped fiddling with his mouth and glanced over at Dean. “I don’t know.” His eyes were bloodshot and shone with tears that hadn’t fallen yet.

Dean shifted closer to him and wrapped one arm around Cas’s shoulders. Cas automatically leaned into the hold, inhaling for an extra long breath. “You wanna go get them looked at?” Dean asked.

Cas stiffened.

“What?” Dean kissed his temple. Cas’s face had fallen, his eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t want to go to the h-hospital,” Cas said quietly. “I’ve never—I’ve never gone, not for _this_ —

Please don’t make me.”

Dean waited. “We’ve gotta take care of you, though,” he said softly, after another moment. Tentatively, he reached for Cas’s hand with his free one. He didn’t mention the worry of infection too. Cas would know that already.

Cas spoke shakily. “I-I just—I don’t want them to l-lock me up,” he murmured, intertwining his fingers with Dean’s. “I wasn’t t-trying to… It was an _accident_ , Dean, I was upset—”

“They won’t,” Dean said automatically, hoping he was right. “I’ll tell them.” They wouldn’t, would they? Probably not. Surely an ER staff knew the difference between self-injury and a suicide attempt. He could vouch for the guy.

They stayed quiet for several moments, Cas’s face tilted down as he stared at his denim-clad thighs. Dean studiously kept his gaze away from Cas's legs and where they might be hurt. Every time he was tempted, he shut his eyes.

Finally, Cas nodded. “Okay. I'll go.”

“Good.” Dean squeezed his hand. “Good idea. Yeah. Yeah, all right. Wanna—we’ll just, uh, we’ll—you got your insurance card in your wallet and everything…?”

Cas lifted his chin and sort of jerked his head back toward the nightstand. Dean had forgotten about the wallet on top of the book.

“Okay. Well, I’m ready if you are.” Dean patted the back of his shoulder gently before standing and retrieving the wallet, holding it out as Cas got to his feet.

They paused at the bedroom door. Or rather, Dean paused when Cas looked at him with wide, anxious blue eyes full of uncertainty. He stopped, and in a near-parallel of the scene several minutes earlier, Dean held onto Cas in the doorway. He could tell Cas was shaking a little with anxiety. “You’ll be okay,” he said. “I gotcha.”

“I know,” Cas murmured. “I'll be all right.”

-

There wasn’t much trouble at the hospital, as it turned out. It was hard as hell for Dean to stand there with Cas and not look at the wounds, so he kept back, leaning against the wall by the door and giving himself distance to avoid the temptation to give into curiosity.

The nurse who came in to clean and stitch the wounds had seemed faintly snippy at first, and Cas had tensed up and gripped the edges of the plastic bed he was sitting on as Dean narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to say something. The nurse, however, had seen the motion of Cas’s hands and apologized. He’d explained in a kinder tone that he was on a long shift and sometimes sounded irritated when he didn’t mean to be.

Dean was vocal about Cas’s fear of a psych hold and asked straight out, and the nurse said that it was more the doctor’s decision. He did say that they commonly saw self-inflicted wounds and knew people often cut themselves deeper than intended.

Sure enough, the doctor they sent in after that to talk to Cas said pretty much the same thing. Once Cas reassured her that it wasn’t an attempt at suicide, and that he would call both his counselor and psychiatrist as soon as possible, she let them go.

They drove back to the apartment, both wordless. Streetlamps glinted off the Impala in regular intervals, and the quiet streets ahead of them were tinted orange with nighttime lighting.

It wasn’t until they were home that Dean spoke. Cas was in the kitchen, disappearing partially behind the fridge door as he poked around for something within while Dean toed off his shoes. “Hey, uh, babe,” Dean started.

“Hmm?” Cas stood up with a leftover takeout container from the diner they’d gone to the previous night. “You want yours too?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ll get it in a minute, uh, doesn’t matter. I—” God. He hated to even bring this up again. But… “Look, I’m sorry about the letter, okay?”

Cas said nothing. He very methodically spooned out the chicken lo mien onto a plate, keeping his back ramrod straight and breathing evenly. He’d once described to Dean a certain phase he got, where it was like a radio silence in his head. “It’s almost the sound you hear when everything’s been loud and bothering you—people yelling, music too high, cars, whatever—and it all cuts out. Not _exactly_ your ears ringing, just that contrast,” he’d said. “Like… I don’t feel like a robot, but that’s kind of close too. Almost emotionless. _Almost_.” And Dean was certain he was feeling it now.

He waited until his food was microwaved and he’d taken it to the table before he spoke. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it,” he said, not looking at Dean.

Dean bit his lip. “Okay. Sorry.” He swallowed. Clearly they weren’t going to get anywhere on the subject tonight.

Resigned, he grabbed his own dinner and took his usual seat diagonally next to Cas.

Several minutes went by before Dean felt Cas’s eyes on his. He looked up. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said softly. “I’m not trying to shut you out, I’m j—It’s just—” He sighed. “It’s—I can’t—” He stopped and shut his eyes, making a wry smile at himself. “Apparently I can’t even _speak_ anymore.”

Dean smiled and reached over, clasping his hand on Cas’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I know it’s rough.” He wanted to say more, but didn’t wanna push Cas again.

“Thanks for being patient with me, Dean,” said Cas. “I know I’m not always…” He rolled his eyes.

“Hey. Neither am I!” Dean protested. “You know I got my own shit too. Don’t worry about it.” Grinning, he nodded his head toward Cas’s plate. “Now, let’s quit talking and eat. You don’t finish that, I sure as hell will.”

Cas made a show of curling his arm between his plate and Dean, pretending to be annoyed. His smile didn’t look _quite_ 100% real, but he was at least making the effort. Which meant something.

-

Dean lied awake for a while before speaking. “Hey, babe,” he breathed, staring up at the dark ceiling. He wasn’t sure if Cas was awake or not.

“…Mmhmm?” came the eventual reply, Cas’s voice thick and slightly incoherent with sleepiness. He was lying on his side, facing Dean, his breathing deep and even. “Whass wrong?”

 _Shit_. “Nothing, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

Cas blinked a few times and gazed drowsily at him, reaching over and stroked his hand along Dean’s left bicep. The sleeve of Cas’s T-shirt rode up with the motion; if the bedside lamp on the dresser had been brighter it would have illuminated a couple faded keloid scars. As it was now, they were too faint to make out. “You doin’ okay?” Cas asked with soft concern.

Dean turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, pausing, and then lying flat and dropping his arm back under his head as he faced Cas. There was a faint heaviness in the air.

He knew what it was from his side of things, at least. He was still thinking of the scene earlier, the image lingering in his mind. And he knew _Cas_ was now wondering if he was still thinking about it. Well, _obviously_. When the hell had he ever been able to let anything go? He was too stubborn, even when he wasn't trying to be. It was bullshit.

Cas watched the expression in his face. “Dean…”

He swallowed and then just finally came out with it. “…I’m sorry. I can’t sleep.”

Cas didn’t react for a couple of seconds. He exhaled roughly and shut his eyes. “Dean, _I’m_ sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Dean said. “I mean, y’know, I hate that you do this but you’re not, uh…” He paused and stared over Cas at the closet door blankly as he searched for words. “Like, you don't need to apologize. At all. That's not what this is about. It was just… I couldn’t get it out of my head and I know I’m just obsessing and….”

“No, no, it’s hard for someone else to have to deal with,” said Cas, opening his eyes again. He slid his hand up Dean’s shoulder and rested it against the back of his neck. “I… Yeah. I was being stupid is all.”

Dean leaned closer and kissed him. “No, you're not. Don't ever say that. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” He could feel Cas smiling against his lips before he reluctantly pulled away. “I just…” he began. But he wasn’t sure what he was going to finish that sentence with. What, say that he felt bad for not being able to sleep? For inadvertently adding to Cas’s guilt? The guy had enough on his plate as it was. But at the same time, shitty as it was, he knew he wasn’t doing himself any favors by denying his own discomfort with the evening.

On another level, though, he _did_ realize it was about Cas’s own issues. Not something he could fix by himself. And the guy had been massively upset today.

That thought reminded Dean of the letter again, and he was once again glad that Cas had a therapist appointment coming up the next week. Would definitely be a good idea to bring up today’s events. _Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for_ me _to see one too_ , he only half-jokingly wondered again, remembering how he’d had to send Cas’s mother away before uncontrollably throwing the beer bottles. Like a damn _child_. Jeez, maybe Cas had been right about the therapy idea that time. How many bottles had John thrown when he and Sam were growing up? Some barely missing their heads, even—

“You there, Dean?” Cas asked softly.

He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He cupped his hand against the side of Cas’s face. “…I love you,” he said. The words that had taken so long to be able to say, but that they both knew he’d felt all along.

Cas smiled softly. “Love you too.” He pressed his lips to Dean’s again. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night.”


	26. Gabriel's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse cw, very minor character death mention

_October 11, 2007_

_Dear Castiel,_

_I miss you._

_Not sure how else to start this out. But I do. I miss hanging out with you, having my little brother in my life, just laughing._

_Your mom and I ran into each other at the store, when I was with my wife Kali. She told me what happened to you. Don’t be mad, okay? She wasn’t blabbing it—but she wanted me to know what happened, when you were little._

_I’m sorry. For so much. I’m sorry I never saw the signs, I’m sorry I walked away, I’m sorry it happened in the first place, I’m sorry you were alone for so long. I’m sorry nobody figured it out sooner. I’m sorry you felt like you had to carry it alone. I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I’m sorry things were so shitty for you, that early on._

_I think about that fight at the start of it all, when your mom was at the door of Dad’s house, and Dad was yelling. I looked out the side window and I could see you in the car—I don’t know if you remember, but I was at the house too that day. (Balthazar was out with our mom.) And then Dad told me to go upstairs, and I asked if I could stay, and he said no._

_Upstairs I could still hear him yelling, though, and I went to the window and looked down at the car, and I saw you, just barely, pressed to the window, watching your mom shouting through the front door of the house at Dad. And I wished I was in the car too, to tell you that hey, Dad and my mom fought too. I could see myself saying “It’s okay, Cas, I’ve seen some real big ones. Want some popcorn?”_

_That’s the thing, you know? Parents fight—kids aren't to blame for that. No matter what it’s about._

_You know, it’s funny now. I remember how quiet you started getting after that point. I should have known, Cas. God, you were so fucking energetic as a kid. Do you remember your mom complaining about babysitters not being able to keep up with you? How the one caught you climbing over the porch railing, and when she was honest enough to admit it to your mom, your mom fired her ass? I always kinda felt sorry for her. You were just too damn fast!_

_Don't even get me started on seeing it from the point of view as a parent now. The number of times I've chased after Katie and Mikey— and now I went and got married, and we have a third? What the hell was I thinking?!_

_Dad’s talked a couple of times how you were the most hyper one of the three of us. He jokes that “I wasn’t ready for Balthazar, and I kind of had an idea what to expect for you and got blindsided, but by the time Castiel came around, I thought I had things down.” And then he’ll whistle and say “No, not at all. That kid had me running ragged!” And then we’ll realize he’s talking in the past tense and we’ll all get really quiet, but we’re all thinking: we know you’re still alive at least, we’re just… waiting for different circumstances._

The next section was written with a pen of a different ink color, as if Gabriel had had to put the letter down and come back to it later.

_Anyway._

_As you got older, you… I don’t know, I assumed the slowing down and getting quiet thing was because you started reading more or something. But the energy was gone. There was something_ inside _that had changed. And I blamed it on growing up, too. God._

_I’ve been looking through pictures of you. (It feels like I should have a joke there, something about how we all look dorky as kids, but I’ve got nothing. Sorry, kiddo.) Some your mom gave me. Some I had from when we were still in touch._

_Your eyes, Cas. Now that I know what to look for, I can see it in your eyes. You smile in most of them, and you look pretty convincing for the most part, but—there’s this look in your eyes, this... nothingness that’s so obvious that I don’t know how we all missed it for so long. How blind WERE we?_

_That last time I saw you… I can't forgive myself for leaving you. I knew something was wrong. With everything in my being, I knew something was wrong. But I—he was just so fucking aggressively repellent, actively ignoring anyone that came over and making us all uncomfortable and not want to be there… I thought you hated him. I mean, I KNEW you hated him, but I thought it was… I didn’t know how far down it went._

_I lived with my mom for a few years after we lost touch. So I don’t know if you ever tried to call. (Balthazar moved to England right around the same time I had to shack up with Mom. Would you believe he’s got the full English accent by now? He’s so full of it…) But yeah, I’ve been in Nebraska until about 2005. Back in Kansas, though, now. I’m living in El Dorado, but no, I have not found all the gold there, unfortunately. I must have the wrong one._

_I got married. Right, right, sounds out of left field, I know. But she’s amazing. Her name is Kali and actually, we met at a hotel. Balthazar flew out to visit me, and I was at his hotel, and she was visiting somebody she knew. She lived in Nebraska too, but we decided to live here after we got engaged. I can’t wait for you to meet her. You’ll like her._

_Katie’s doing well. She has a little brother now, Mikey. He's a cool kid._

_But I don’t know if you heard—Anna died some years back. There was a car accident. It’s still hard to talk about it, but she didn’t make it. We were alone, though. The kids were with a sitter._

_And four months ago, Kali and I had a little girl. Her name’s Leela and—well, so far I don’t know much about her! She’s a baby!_ [Cas laughed.] _I knew that would get you. I hope it did, anyway. No, she’s a good baby. Doesn’t cry TOO much. Yet, anyway._

_I hope you did actually read this. I’m not sure what to hope for beyond that, though I’d love it if you agreed to meet me again. Things haven’t been the same without you. (Again, I know I should add a joke there, it sounds so out of my voice—but I’ve got absolutely nothing. We miss you too much to kid about it.)_

_Love,_

_Gabriel_

_PS: Balthazar says hi, too. He’ll be there whenever, just ask._


	27. Remembering Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food cw, flashback/ a child witnessing a stressful fight and mention of money issues

This sucked. He was surrounded by love, surrounded by people who cared about him, but ironically he'd never felt so alone in his life.

No. No, that wasn't right either. He wasn't alone. But it felt that way. It was hard to pull out this memory. Cas cupped his hands around the coffee cup for warmth, closing his eyes. He breathed.

“You’re okay,” Meg prompted him. Cas heard a muffled thud and figured Dean had just kicked her foot.

“It's fine,” he said, opening his eyes. He swallowed. “I'm fine. Um. So I was nine, maybe ten, I think, and my mom was taking me over to my father's. Raph and my grandfather Pop-Pop were in the car too. They were going to Raph's football game after she was going to drop me off…”

_“Cas, are you ready yet?” Mom yelled up the stairs._

_I shook my head as I crammed yet another Goosebumps book into my light blue suitcase. “Not yetttt!” I called back, drawing the word out._

_“We're gonna leave any minute and I need to talk to your father when we get there!”_

_“I knowww, Mommm!” My Quiz Wiz. Where was it? I knew where the question book was, but where was the Quiz Wiz_ itself _? “I’m hurrying!”_

_Chuckles from below. Pop-Pop said something I couldn’t make out to Mom._

_Mom started climbing the stairs. I had to hurry up or she'd stand at the door watching me race around in panic and it would just make me forget things._

_Found the Quiz Wiz! I snagged it from under a pair of pajama pants and began to wriggle back from under my bed._

_“Cas, dammit!” Mom called._

_Aww, crap. I wanted to grab my Pocket Rocker tape player too. “Coming!” I shouted, snatching it from a shelf. The movement jostled a pile of folded laundry, and the whole thing tumbled to the floor. “Ooops,” I mumbled, making a mental note to pick it all up later._

_I could hear Mom go to her room for something. “You better be ready in five more seconds!”_

_“Dammit, Cas!”_

_I could find two tapes in my desk drawer, but that was all. They’d have to do. Heaving a sigh, I gave up and tossed them with the tape player into my suitcase and closed the snaps. “Coming, Mom!”_

_“You better be!”_

_Pop-Pop laughed at us from downstairs. He had good hearing._

_I grabbed my suitcase and ran down the stairs, tripping but catching myself on the next to last stair. “Ready. Mom?”_

_She was a minute or two behind me, pulling her purse on her shoulder. “Okay. Are we ready?”_

_“Yup.” I looked through the living room in confusion. “Where's—”_

_“Raph's been waiting outside for the last ten minutes,” Mom said as she grabbed her keys._

_“Allll right, you’re allll set,” Pop-Pop drawled, smiling as he watched me swinging the suitcase on my way out. “You excited, huh? You look good.”_

_“Thanks,” I said with a small smile. I climbed into the car in the back, right side as always. Raph was listening to his music and didn't pay me much attention. That was okay. We usually stayed our separate ways. Different personalities, different ages._

_Mom and Pop-Pop chatted on the way over to Dad's while I watched out the windows absently. My mind wandered, though; I didn't take in much of the scenery too well._

_Soon enough we were pulling into Dad's driveway and I opened my door. “No,” Mom said. “Stay here a minute. I need to talk to him.” She brandished a letter I hadn't seen before._

_“Oh. Okay.”_

_I sat back and waited, watching while she approached the front door. Impatiently I drummed my fingers over my suitcase. I was bored. I should have left one of my books out to read on the way, but how was I s'posed to know Mom would make me wait in the car first?_

_Her voice was getting loud— what was going on?_

_“She sounds mad,” Pop-Pop said. “I hope everything's okay.”_

_I remembered then that she was worried about Dad taking me on a trip to Chicago to see some distant relatives. It wasn't far, but it was out of state, and there was some adult stuff, some paperwork stuff she had made this big fuss over. That was it. That was the paper, now that I was thinking about it. “It's probably about the trip,” I said in response, watching her wave it to my dad. Gesturing. She talked with her hands sometimes._

_There were a sudden rapid set of beeps from my brother's side of the backseat as Raph played his portable football handset game, and then a musical cue. “Crap,” he muttered, and sighed in annoyance, setting it down. He looked up too. “What's going on?”_

_“She's talking to Chuck,” Pop-Pop said. “Be just a minute.”_

_Maybe more than a minute, I was starting to realize, my stomach getting knots in it as I watched. Both Mom and Dad were looking angry with each other and their voices were rising. I could hear bits and pieces of their argument._

_“—just a precaution, I'm not SAYING that—”_

_“—not going to kidnap my own child!”_

_I was getting really nervous. I hoped they settled this quickly so I could just go ahead and get out. Dad had said we'd go get Gabriel and Balthazar too, this weekend. It had been a while since I'd seen them and I was looking forward to it._

_“—the fucking child support too, I have three kids and—”_

_I swallowed and clenched my hands around the suitcase nervously. Money stuff always made me anxious. We didn't have much. Mom had had mine raised. I didn't know what it all meant, I just knew it involved money and I felt bad for making her need it._

_Pop-Pop and Raph suddenly began talking loudly about how things were going for my brother in school, and how my grandmother was doing. I wasn’t paying much attention at this point because the conversation between my mom and dad was getting really bad really fast._

_“—for his own safety!—” Mom was insisting. “And Chicago's a huge cit—”_

_Dad shouted and this time I definitely heard what he said. “—that and now this too, I swear, Naomi, you can’t just—”_

_Back and forth, on and on. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a curtain on the second floor wave, but my eyes were glued on my feuding parents and my hands were clenched on the window of the car, my suitcase fallen on the floor of the backseat. It sprang open and stuff spilled; the Quiz Wiz hit my foot._

_Raph and Pop-Pop weren’t even trying to fake polite conversation anymore._

_Dad yelled a few more angry words, but Mom stood her ground. Then she was marching to the car and getting in angrily, slamming her door shut and peeling out._

_“Mom, Mom, wait!” I cried out, fumbling toward the door handle, but she reversed so quickly my hand's aim was off and I hit the ashtray instead with the side of my hand. “Where are we going? Mom!”_

_“You're not staying tonight,” she said angrily as we sped down the road away from my father's house. “He's not listening to reason. And I have to keep you safe. I'm doing what I have to do.”_

_“Mom. Mom!”_

_I tried the door, but she hit the powerlock and all four doors locked in frightening unison._

-

“Things got fuzzy toward the end there,” Cas said now, his eyes unfocused; he could make out the colors of things on the table without anything standing out, and as he stared blankly, his vision doubled. The plates of food, his coffee cup, Donna’s shake, etc, all twinned. “I don’t know if I cried or yelled at my mom, if we even went to Raph's game or straight home, anything.” He shook his head and kept twisting his fingertips together. “Just—this overwhelming sense, this sound of the locks slamming shut and they were _so loud_ in my memory. Louder than is really possible.” Almost like prison doors, he thought, and immediately wanted to judge himself the dramatic thought.

He continued. “And my father, I do remember him running after us in the driveway when I looked back, but I don't remember him driving after us. Maybe he did and gave up? Maybe he didn't bother? I just… I don’t even know anymore.” He sighed.

Dean reached over to take his left hand. Cas glanced at him, seeing nothing but love and support in his face. Dean didn’t always know how to word things sometimes, but so often—like now—he didn’t need to. Just his hand and presence was enough.

Meg, too. When Cas looked at her, she had a sad smile, her eyes soft. She didn’t say anything.

“And… that was the last time I saw him,” Cas murmured. Dean squeezed his hand.

They sat in silence for a bit. After a while, they returned to eating, nobody knowing what to say next.

Cas had just started to pick at his food again when he stopped suddenly. “Oh, I forgot,” he said. “I saw him when I was sixteen. At a Kmart. We were, uh—” He laughed, partly out of nerves and part from amusement. “We were both at the books. I found my mom later at the card section. I heard somebody call my name and I looked over, but—I didn’t recognize him. I—” He shook his head again. “I don’t know why. It had only been five or six years. How much could he have changed?”

“Mmm—May-hee—” Donna stopped and swallowed the bite of burger she’d taken. “Maybe _he_ didn’t,” she suggested. “Maybe it was you, your getting older and seeing him through older eyes. You weren’t a kid anymore.” Dean and Meg both nodded in agreement.

Cas blinked. “I… I never thought of that,” he admitted.

“So what happened?” Dean asked. He sipped his own coffee. “Did he know for sure it was you?”

“Yeah.” Cas let out his breath. “Especially when I looked over, like an idiot. But I mean, h—”

“How were you supposed to know it’d be him?” Donna finished for him, pushing the plate of fries his way.

Cas gazed off at the wall distantly as he remembered. “I wanted to say something. I did. But…” His words failed him now, just as they had back then. “I— I couldn't. I shook my head. I felt like, part of me remembered him, because— if it had been a stranger, I— Wouldn't I have asked right away who it was? Why would I have frozen that way?”

Dean leaned against him, shoulder-to-shoulder, offering support again.

“So when I didn't say anything, he j— He didn't know what to say either, and I knew he was disappointed, and I felt like this worthless piece of—”

“Hey,” Dean cut in. “None of that here. Go on with— Did he end up saying anything?”

Cas nodded. “Y-yeah. He said, Castiel, it's me. Dad. Don't you remember me?’” Cas changed his tone, emulating his father’s friendly, confident, slightly commanding but not intimidating way of talking.

He dropped the mimicry as he went on. “And I kind of stared, looked at him, the books, looked at him, then, ‘Ummm… I don’t know…’ like—like—” Cas broke off, his shoulders curling forward and eyes widening. “Like—I don’t know, I didn’t _believe_ him? I’m sure that’s how it came across, but that’s not how I meant it. It was more like ‘I don’t know what to do, I’ve spent so many years hating you, but I’m kind of frozen right now, help.’”

The conversation was abruptly broken as their server, a black man named Joshua, started their way. “Hello, all,” he said gently as he approached with a pot of coffee. “Anything I can get you?”

“Refill,” Dean said, holding out his cup.

“Sure, no problem.” Joshua smiled.

After both Cas and Dean’s coffees were topped off and the three were alone again, they had another one of those uncertain silences.

“So what happened after that?” Meg asked finally.

Cas broke a fry in half. “We left,” he said. “I mean, I left. I waited till he wasn’t looking at me anymore, then I hurried away as fast as I could. Quietly. I found Mom and we got out of there, she put her stuff back and… that’s about it.” He ate one of the halves, not tasting it. “Frankly, I'm surprised we didn't get accosted by security with how fast we left.” It was such a bad attempt at a joke that he wasn't surprised when nobody laughed.

More memories were starting to come back to him. When he was fourteen, he'd had a series of dreams— nightmares, he'd called them at the time when discussing them with Meg and Donna— about running into his father. Some at the mall. Some at his school's book sales. Some when he'd been called to the office at school to be picked up, but instead of his mother, it was Chuck.

It was almost as if his subconscious mind was preparing him for the day he _would_ eventually run into his father.

“Cas?”

He blinked. “Yeah?” Glanced up at Meg.

“You okay? You’re like, off in Never-Never-Land or something…” She reached over and gently squeezed his forearm. “Anything we can do?”

Cas smiled. “I’m okay,” he murmured. “Just lost in thought.”

Dean swallowed the massive bite of burger he’d been working on. “Wan’ a map?” He elbowed Cas lightly. “So. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Cas shook his head, exhaling. “I…”

That was his entire problem. He’d spent over ten years hating his father, the last five years hating his brothers and taking all that pain and rejection and turning it outward into a shield, bending the angst into a steel cage he could hide behind. _You don’t want me?_ he’d thought. _Fine, I don’t want you either. Any of you._ He believed himself better off, believed his mother could do both jobs, and just because he was related to someone didn’t mean he _had_ to have them in his life.

At the same time he knew he constantly struggled with the idea of sharing blood with strangers that could turn their backs so easily on family for no reason—or so it seemed to him. But were they really? Was he overprojecting?

He'd always known he was sensitive; probably overly so. It wouldn't be the first time by far that he'd wrongly interpreted a situation and gotten hurt because of it— but it definitely would be the one that had the biggest impact in his life.

Cas almost wanted to laugh, and would have, if his heart weren't still so heavy with worry and fear. God, what if? He could so easily have been reading and memorizing a different book. Things were completely different.

They _did_ want him. Or so the letter said. _“_ _Things haven’t been the same without you…”_

It was just one more way Metatron had fucked his life over. Fucked with his head.

God, Cas pondered further, wasn’t some of this stuff things that Metatron had even suggested to him when he was younger? Indirectly? _“It’s a shame they’re not around more…” “I don’t know why they don’t call you…” “You ever wonder what it would be like if your family wanted to be in your life?”_

A knee knocked against his. “Hey.”

Cas glanced over at Dean. “Hey.”

“Want some pie?” Dean slid his plate over.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, Dean. Things _really_ must be serious if you’re offering pie, huh?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, don’t get carried away, I said _some_. Not the whole thing, greedy.”

Meg grinned and Donna giggled. “I’ll order you another piece,” she offered Dean. “Let him have it.”

Cas never did end up coming to a decision, but he did feel a little lighter somehow, sitting there with Donna and Dean. At least for one night.


	28. Calling Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: self-injury (onscreen, small scene near the end)

Two weeks later, Cas had made his choice. But it was one thing to know in his heart he wanted to see Gabriel again (at least, that bridge he could cross for now)… and a whole other thing to actually dial his number.

 _You'd think the phone was alive or something_ , Cas thought to himself with a mix of irritation and amusement, staring down and wondering when he'd get the courage to actually dial it.

“Just breathe,” Dean said, rubbing along the top of Cas’s back. “Everything’ll be fine, ’kay?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Cas shook his head and eyed the phone number he’d programmed into his phone. His thumb hovered over the CALL button.

“Hey. Look at me.” Dean’s voice was strong, attention-grabbing.

Cas glanced over at him. “I know. I’m being a baby.” He shut his phone and absently stared out the balcony doors. It had snowed the previous two days, but not much—some stubborn piles of snow still littered the grass outside their apartment complex, but everything that had fallen in their specific parking lot was either dirty slush or gone entirely.

He couldn’t help thinking of times when he was a teenager, before Gabriel had left, before he’d been alone again. Often he had the impression of Gabriel as a traitor—he had known from the times he still saw his father, before, that Gabriel told Chuck about how Cas was doing. Or what was up with his life.

 _Was that really the case, though?_ Cas wondered now, his brow furrowing. He stroked the edge of his phone with one thumb. _Or—were you just being too defensive?_

Not in a conscious way. Probably not, anyhow. But maybe he’d been so caught up in thinking of his real father as the enemy instead of his stepfather that it had spread to thinking of Gabriel as part of it, too. That he’d thought about things in a negative light when they weren’t necessarily that way.

Maybe Gabriel wasn’t being a spy, or whatever the fuck he’d subconsciously thought at the time. Maybe he was just being a concerned brother, who knew Cas’s father honestly wanted to know about how his son was doing.

And from what he could tell, it wasn’t like Gabriel had told him—and Balthazar—tons of details. Not like he mailed Cas’s journal to Chuck so he could analyze it line by line. It was unimportant things. Chuck saying “I heard you had trouble with that test you were worried about,” when Cas was eight, “I told Dad you had the flu since the last time he got you,” when he was 10. Not exactly earth-shattering revelations he wanted to keep quiet.

“Cas?”

He blinked. He’d been watching out the balcony doors, staring at nothing, for so long that there was an after image for a few seconds. “Yeah. I know.”

Dean knocked his shoulder against Cas’s. “If this doesn’t feel right, you know… You don’t have to do it. At least not today.”

“But I _want_ to,” Cas murmured, thinking now of Mikey. And Leela. Children whose blood he partially shared, who he’d had no idea existed. And who wouldn’t know him if things continued like this.

He wanted to know Gabriel again, too, truth be told. He remembered times they’d hung out when he was younger, when Gabriel would prank him, or when they’d team up together against Raphael.

The corner of Cas’s mouth lifted as he remembered one involving fishing line strung up in Raphael’s doorway at about calf height. He hadn’t thought Raphael would actually fall for it (pun not intended), but apparently he’d been distracted enough by the phone call he was on at the time. Cas still remembered the amusing sight of his brother’s graceless fall and the litany of surprised swears he’d emitted as he toppled over into his room.

And when Gabriel had brought over Katie a couple of times, the occasions that he had her back then before her mother had died. She was so small, so cute… Now she was eight. _Eight_. He’d missed so many things for her, too. First day of school, last day of her being an only child, first loose tooth…

“Okay,” Cas said now, opening his phone again. “I’m gonna do it.”

Dean squeezed his knee. “You got this.”

Cas dialed.

The phone rang a few times on the other end, and Cas was about to hang up in disappointment when finally, an answer. “Hello?”

He couldn’t speak. His pulse picked up.

“Hellooo? Anyone?”

The inflection of Gabriel’s voice was what did it. That nearly sung _hello_ in confusion; his sense of humor hinted at with just the two words. Cas smiled. “Hi. It’s—it’s me. Cas.”

There was a hesitant smile in Gabriel’s tone. “Sounds familiar…”

Cas chuckled softly. He couldn’t help it. “H-hi. How have you been doing?”

“I’m okay,” Gabriel said seriously, his voice a little soft. “How are _you_?”

The words were so light, so trivial—but the undercurrent ran deep. He was talking to his brother for the first time in _years_. God, he hadn’t spoken to Gabriel since before he’d learned to drive.

They discussed easy topics at first. Jobs, living arrangements. Gabriel was proud of Cas for living on his own—that after everything he’d been through, he was making it by himself, no matter how much Cas tried to downplay it.

Discreetly, Dean got to his feet and retreated to their bedroom, giving Cas some privacy.

Gabriel was amazed that Cas worked at Dillon's, since occasionally he and Kali did their shopping there and they had yet to run into him. Cas explained he usually worked evening shifts, sometimes into the late hours of the night, and Gabriel _hmm_ ed. “Kali usually wants to shop in the mornings,” he said. “She’s got more energy then!”

And Gabriel worked at what he self-described as a tabloid. “It’s not the—eh, the most respected profession, but I have fun,” he told Cas. “So what if I’m not writing for the New York Times?”

“I could never see you working there.” Cas relaxed into the couch with the phone to his ear. “I mean—nothing _against_ people that work there, but—”

“I’m too much of a smart-ass?” Gabriel laughed. “Yeah, I know. I was—I was thinking of changing jobs, though,” he mused. “Going back to school. Be a teacher, you know? We could definitely use the extra money…”

Cas nodded. “You could do it. You’re smart enough.”

Dean walked back into the living room. He raised his eyebrows, watching Cas with interested concern. Cas lifted his chin and smiled slightly. _It’s okay_ , he mouthed, giving a thumbs up and waving him back. But Dean pointed into the kitchen, miming drinking something, and disappeared again.

“So, I met with your mom a couple times,” Gabriel was saying now. “She’s exactly the same. It’s…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“I know,” Cas agreed. “She’s best in small doses.”

Gabriel stammered. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—uhh—”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas said. “We get along a _lot_ better since I moved out. We’re almost friends now, you believe that?”

Dean returned with a can of soda for Cas and a bottle of water for himself, setting the can on the side table and returning to his seat on the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table next to Cas’s and opened the bottle of water.

“Wow… You know, that’s kinda how things were with me and my mom too,” Gabriel said. “And Balthazar too.”

Dean turned the TV on low and aimlessly flipped through channels as they talked.

Cas and Gabriel discussed Balthazar’s move for a while. It turned out that he’d moved because of a job transfer, and he’d met someone there and decided to stay for a while. After two or three years, they’d broken up, but Balthazar remained in England because he’d felt at home there.

“…I mean, it sucks that we don’t see him as often,” Gabriel said now. “But he’s happy, so, you know.”

There was a silence. Dean glanced over at and nudged Cas’s foot with his own.

Cas nudged back and cracked open his soda noisily. “And there’s always the Internet. Chatting, whatever.” He thought for a moment. “When’s the next time you think he might come out for a visit?”

“Oh, man,” said Gabriel. “Kid, I don’t know. We talked about it when—when your mom ran into me and Kali. He wants to. But he just doesn’t have the money right now. But he wanted me to say he misses you too.”

Cas swallowed. “Yeah… Yeah, I miss him, too. And you,” he added. He took a long drink. “But that’s okay. Plane tickets are expensive.” He shifted the phone to his other ear.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll scrounge something together, help get him over here for Christmas. Or I can talk to Dad. He should be able to help some, too.”

_Dad._

Cas’s breath caught in his throat.

“Um,” he began, and couldn’t go on. In his peripheral vision he was aware of Dean looking over, watching, waiting to see if Cas needed him. But he couldn’t speak right now.

Gabriel broke the silence. “Did—uh, did your mom…?”

“Yeah… I talked to her about everything.” Cas suddenly realized he was toying with the fresh scars on his leg through his jeans and pulled his hand away. “Uh, so… so… How-how is he?”

There was some kind of a clattering noise on the other end of the line, and a woman’s voice among a child’s squeals of laughter. “Mikey! I told you not to…” The voice got more indistinct as Gabriel apparently walked into another room.

“Sorry about that,” Gabriel said. “Dad’s good. He did the therapy thing, you know? Got into some anger management courses, after the…” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Told me a couple years back it killed him to think of you, seeing him yelling and… all mad, like that. He wanted to change. I was—Balth and I were proud of him. Not to get all sappy. Cause, you know, it’s—He _did_ change. Lots of people just talk about wanting to, but he—He made the effort.”

“That’s good,” Cas murmured. He took another drink of his soda. It was impressive—his father hadn’t really seemed the type to go to therapy. Not that he was the type to _reject_ the idea, either, but still.

“He’s working at DMM Industries, too,” Gabriel went on. “Been there… I wanna say, four years or so? He’s—it’s not his favorite place, but it’s steady work, which is good.”

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, somewhat awkwardly.

“So…”

“So.”

Another wordless moment. Cas wondered quietly if they’d ever approach the subject that he knew was on both of their minds. But maybe Gabriel didn’t want to bring it up unless he did? Or maybe he was afraid of upsetting him. Something.

Or maybe it was just too early. Could be that, too.

Dean interlaced his fingers with Cas’s free hand, squeezing reassuringly. Cas squeezed back in thanks.

“Um, did—so did you want to come visit?” he finally managed to ask his brother. “I’m… my—my apartment’s kind of small, you know, if you had all the kids… but Mom, uh, my mom, I mean—” ( _Idiot, he knows who you mean,_ Cas thought) “—she said we could meet there. Um, that you could come over. She wants to see you and the kids too.”

Gabriel took so long to answer that Cas almost wondered if he’d hung up. He could still distantly hear the kids and Kali in the background, though. “Hello?” he asked, a little shakily.

“I’m here,” Gabriel said. “Y…yeah. I’d like that, kiddo.”

Cas’s heart sped up a bit. “O-okay. That’s, um, that’s good. I’ll let her know and we’ll figure something out.”

“Sounds good,” Gabriel said brightly. “Hey, listen, sorry to hang up so soon, but we’re gonna have to get ready here. Mikey has a doctor’s appointment and—well, kids take forever to get out the door…”

“All right.” Cas actually laughed. “I’ll let you go, then.” He paused and put his feet down from the coffee table. “It was, um, good to talk to you.”

Dean rubbed his thumb over Cas’s hand soothingly.

“It was good to _hear_ from you, Cas,” Gabriel said, his voice switching back to a serious tone. “Please, call again. Or text. I’ll be around.” There was a squeal of a child’s laughter in the background and Kali’s aggravated protesting.

Cas took a steady, even breath. “I will,” he promised. “Okay. See you later.”

“Bye, Cas.” Gabriel hung up.

So that was it.

Cas stared at the phone, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the time they’d been talking under the CALL ENDED message.

Dean shifted to face him more directly. “Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

Yes. No. He had no idea. Cas looked up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Y-yeah, I… I think so,” he replied, nodding slowly. He flipped the phone shut and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table.

They sat there wordlessly for a few minutes. Cas knew Dean wasn’t sure what to say, and that was fine. _He_ wasn’t sure what to say either.

“I gotta—I’m gonna hit the head,” he mumbled after a while, getting to his feet. “Want anything while I’m up?”

Dean looked at him for a long moment, pressing his lips together. He shook his head.

It didn’t matter if Dean knew. Cas needed this.

He knew he didn’t have anything in the bathroom. And it had been a long time since he’d carried anything in his wallet. (Not that he had it on him at the moment, anyway.)

Didn’t matter either. He’d make do.

Cas ended up finding a safety pin in one of the drawers under the sink. That and a little determination. He couldn’t cut properly with it, so he only ended up with a batch of small scratches. Irritating.

 _Why are you like this?_ he wondered. _And why would he want you back in his life anyway? He just feels sorry for you. You’re not worth anything. They don’t really want you, don’t you understand?_

He left the bathroom unsatisfied and still conflicted.

Neither Cas nor Dean said anything afterward. The air hung heavy with disquiet as Cas slumped back in his spot on the couch.

Cas bit the inside of his lip, eyeing Dean in his peripheral vision. Dean’s body language was stiff, his arms crossed over his chest and attention ostensibly on the TV.

“ _You are_ not _alone,_ ” he remembered Dean uttering in anger at one point in frustration, during a disagreement. How upset he’d been about Cas withdrawing into himself. Refusing help.

Cas could do this. He didn’t have to go it alone. He didn’t have to always retreat within himself, shove everyone away and then assume nobody wanted him.

He leaned against Dean briefly, bumping their shoulders together. “Hey.”

Dean turned to look at him. “Hey yourself.” His arms remained crossed, but he offered a small tentative smile and raised his eyebrows.

This might be rough. Cas reached to take a drink from his nearly-empty soda can first, and then turned to his boyfriend. “So…”

“So…” Dean’s expression relaxed a little. He waited patiently, his arms uncrossing and settling against his thighs.

 _Just start talking._ “I, um, I’m still kind of mixed up about seeing Gabriel again…” Cas began.


	29. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: none that I could think of, but please feel free to let me know <3
> 
> By the way! Mikey's name is not me including Michael the archangel's name. Rather, both his name, and Katie's name, are me tipping my hat to a fandom that I still love. Cookies if you get it <3 It's kind of hidden, but also really, _really_ not, if you know the fandom :p Leela's name is a LOT easier and obvious.

The day had come. They were meeting at Naomi's, since it was bigger than Cas's apartment and Cas had figured she'd want to see how Gabriel was doing, too.

He was fine. He was okay. He'd be fine.

Except he wasn't. How could it be so soon? He wanted to throw up.

Oh, god. He was far beyond freaked out. Cas took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, but he was starting to hyperventilate.

 _Idk if I can do this alone_ , he typed into his phone, focusing very hard on not making any typos in an effort to distract himself.

Dean replied almost immediately. _Thought your mom was gonna be there? Want me over too?_

_Doc apt at 2:00, she won’t be here too long. And yes_.

There was only a short pause before Dean answered. _On my way._

-

Cas walked back out to the living room. “Hey, Mom?”

She wasn’t there. He doubled back toward the tiny laundry room at the end of the hall. “Hey? Mom?”

“In here,” Naomi called. _Whum-whummpff_. She was folding the pair of jeans she’d just shaken out when Cas walked up and leaned sideways against the hall outside the room.

Cas absently rubbed at his right bicep through the sleeve. “Dean’s on his way. I’m—”

Naomi eyed him for a second. “Okay,” she said simply. It was frustratingly obvious she felt Cas was being a bit childish for inviting his boyfriend over during such a big Family Thing, but he didn’t care. He _needed_ Dean for this.

Thankfully, though, Naomi didn’t say anything and kept her disapproval contained to her expression: the set of her jaw, the tight press of her lips for a half-second. “That’s fine,” she said.

There was an uncertain silence.

“Are you nervous?” Naomi asked after a while, tucking a pair of socks into a neat bundle. She tossed it onto her pile of clean clothes.

Cas nodded. He leaned forward a little, peering into the dryer. “—Oh.” Not much was left or he’d have offered to finish up. Oh, well. He straightened up. “I’m just—yeah, nervous. I don’t know what to expect here.”

Naomi folded one of her bras. “Well, he loves you,” she said. “You know that. Him and Balthazar both. And Gabriel would’ve been here sooner if he could.” She stacked the washcloths neater together.

“It’s dumb, but I’m still kind of… Not afraid or anything…” Cas paused to consider his words. “…Anxious. I guess that’s the closest word.”

“Understandable.” Naomi looked thoughtful as she folded a towel. “You know that no matter what happens, we love you, right?”

“Yeah—”

His mother’s face darkened. “I mean, I know that—when Met—That, uh, things didn’t work out like they were supposed to. But I _always_ did my best for you and Raphael, Cas. I tried, I—”

“No, I get it, Mom, you were awesome.” Damn, that came out on the sarcastic side. “Really,” he quickly amended, “I _know_ you did, I’m not bein—”

Cas’s breath caught. Was that a car engine?

Naomi frowned. “What?”

“I think they’re here,” Cas said. He went to the window in the living room and peeked out, Naomi following.

That was him. That was his brother, unmistakably Gabriel. Still shorter than Cas, it looked like. He was frowning, his brown hair spilling down partially over his face, and leaning down in his car’s doorway with the driver’s seat pulled forward. After a moment or two, he emerged with a baby car seat. The carrier faced away from the house, so Cas didn’t get a look at his niece yet.

On the other side of the car, as Cas watched, a little girl with medium brown hair climbed out of the backseat, followed by a sunny-faced little boy a few years younger with slightly lighter hair. The little girl clutched a book and a doll, and the boy was carrying Mega Bloks in a soft-looking circular case.

“Aww,” Naomi said from a step or two behind. “The kids are cute.”

“Yeah,” Cas murmured. He struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I think—I mean, that’s Katherine. Katie. She got so big.”

Naomi left to open the door. Cas stayed at the window for another moment, needing the extra time to compose himself.

Gabriel adjusted his grip on the car seat and swung a diaper bag over his shoulder. He said something to the older two kids that Cas didn’t hear.

The little boy—Mikey, Cas reminded himself—was practically a puppy in human form. He was so contagiously happy, bringing a smile to Cas’s face even from this distance. Even without having met him yet.

Katie asked something and Gabriel nodded, and then they were out of sight of the window.

Cas swallowed hard. As cute as this was bound to be, though… He couldn’t forget how many years he’d been alone. How many times it would have helped him to have somebody to reach out to. _Anybody_.

 _Don’t forget you had Donna and Meg,_ he thought.

But it wasn’t the same. Not really. They understood a lot of who and what he was, but… They weren’t a fundamental part of himself that had been lacerated from him. (By choice or circumstance didn’t really matter here, the point was he’d been bleeding for years. Support drained away at a critical time in his life). And there wasn’t—Who knew, maybe he wouldn’t have said anything about the abuse even _if_ Gabriel and Balthazar were still there the whole time. Maybe nothing would have changed.

Or maybe everything would have.

 _You don’t have time for this, crybaby,_ Cas reminded himself. Voices were growing at the front door.

“Hi!” Naomi greeted them, holding the door open.

“Hey there… Naomi, good to see you again,” Cas heard his brother say. The two older kids walked in. “This is Katie, you’ve met…”

His mom nodded. “Hi, Katie.” Katie smiled shyly.

“And this is Mikey.” Who was at the moment trying to shrug out of his coat without letting go of his blocks. “Hold on, buddy,” Gabriel laughed, “I’ll…” He managed to get Mikey to transfer the case to his other hand so he could wrestle his arm free. “There you go,” he said when his son was finally out of his coat.

Cas came forward. “Here, I’ll—” He reached for Mikey’s coat so he could hang it up.

Gabriel caught sight of him. “Cas,” he said, and for one of a handful of times in his life he looked serious. “Hey.” He obviously wanted to say more, but was uncertain.

“Hey.” _Remember. Don’t give in so easily_. Cas hung up Mikey’s coat and turned to Katie. “Can I get yours, sweetie?” She nodded and held it out.

Everybody had just settled in the living room, Naomi chatting easily with Katie, when there was a comfortingly familiar roar in the driveway. Mikey paused in the middle of pulling out his blocks, eyes wide. “Wow,” he said, climbing to his feet and running to the window. “’S a loud cah!”

Cas laughed. “Yeah, it is.” He let Dean in and made the introductions. “Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Dean. Dean, this is my brother Gabriel, and—my niece Katie and nephew Mikey, and my niece Leela in the car seat there.”

“Just about to get her out, there, okay?” Gabriel piped up, carefully freeing one of Leela’s arms from the harness. “Picky, picky.”

Same old Gabriel. Same old sense of humor. That at least, was comforting. Cas couldn’t help but smile a little.

His mother’s living room was pretty small when there weren’t that many people there to begin with. Now, with four adults, two kids, and a baby, it was cramped and sure to get messy almost immediately. Cas was simultaneously alarmed and amused by how frustrated his mother would be by that, but figured she’d have more important things to be concerned about—and anyway, he’d help out afterward too.

Naomi was sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking on. The area between the kitchen and living room was wide open; she wasn’t excluding herself. The kids were on the floor; Gabriel still crouched down in front of Leela’s car seat.

Cas had taken a seat on the couch all the way to the side, to the left. “Hey, get up,” Dean urged, standing next to him. “You’re in my spot.” Cas frowned up at him and blinked, but then understood. He’d unconsciously taken a seat as far away from his brother as he could, and now no matter where Dean himself sat, he’d be between them—whether Gabriel sat in the armchair just to the side of the sofa or remained on the floor with the baby. Dean was, in his subtle-not-subtle way, trying to get Cas to keep from secluding himself.

Cas hadn’t even realized he’d _done_ it. Dean constantly amazed him, even now.

“Sure, okay,” he muttered, shifting down the sofa.

Gabriel smiled, carefully standing up with the baby in his arms. “Well, looks like someone’s waking up,” he said. “That’s good.” He took a seat in the armchair and smiled down at his daughter, voice dropping into a bona fide coo. “Heyyy, Leela. How you doin’?”

“She’s so _small_ ,” Cas breathed in wonder. Leela had been stirring for a while and blinking her closed eyes tighter before they fluttered open. Her coloring was faintly tan from her mother’s Indian heritage, and she had the same dark brown hair and brown eyes as her half-siblings. “Oh, wow…”

“You wanna hold her?” Gabriel asked. “While she’s not too much of a brat yet, like those two?” He cast a smirk at Katie and Mikey, his words unable to disguise the affection in his tone.

“Daaaa-aaad,” Katie protested while Mikey glared.

“Oh, he’s just teasing,” Naomi reassured them from the kitchen. “Hey, does anybody want something to drink?”

It was a tad more chaotic than Cas had anticipated when he’d let himself actually think about meeting his family again. People talking over each other, not being able to finish questions, Katie and Mikey’s exclamations or occasional arguments. And once Naomi brought out a bag of Goldfish for the kids, there was the rustling of the bag and the crunching of the crackers.

Yes. Chaotic. Not what he’d expected.

But it was what it was. It was unmistakably his family, there and open and _available_ to him in a way that it hadn’t been for years.

Dean didn’t say a whole lot, content to sit back and observe. A couple of times he talked to Gabriel about trivial things—their jobs, how the weather had been, how long he and Cas had been dating. But mostly he kept to himself, providing Cas with moral support if he needed it.

And Cas was glad, _oh_ , was he glad Dean was there. The barrier he’d constructed around his heart was starting to crack as he and Gabriel talked more and more, going from lighter conversation and “I can’t believe how big Katie got!” to more serious things and “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you graduate high school.” Once or twice Dean acted on the splinters in Cas’s voice and reached over to squeeze his hand.

Mikey struggled with the blocks at one point, his lower lip sticking out and brow furrowed as he forced two pieces together at an odd angle.

“Try doing it this way, buddy,” Cas suggested, motioning with his hands, trying to help. Mikey watched him, but went back to trying to fit the pieces together wrong.

Dean gently knocked his foot against Cas’s. When Cas looked over, Dean nodded his head forward. “Hey. Go show him how it’s done,” he said with a lazy little smile.

But… But what if… He was uncomfortable, out of place, what if Mikey and Katie didn’t want anything to do with him… Cas felt sort of like a student in school, called on to demonstrate a homework problem he hadn’t done and had no idea how to answer. Incompetent, ignorant, lost.

Gabriel reached over to clap him on the back with the arm that wasn’t holding Leela. “Yeah, you heard your boyfriend, kiddo. Go play.” He grinned.

Cas swallowed. “Yeah, okay.” He made his way over to the small group at the other end of the living room and sat cross-legged on the carpet with his nephew and niece. “Hey, guys. Mikey, can I try something here?”

Mikey protested at first, but eventually he let Cas take the pieces from him and demonstrate. His face lit up when Cas returned the pieces and he was able to do it for himself now that he’d been shown. The shell around Cas’s heart fractured some more as Mikey looked up at him and beamed, flashing bright brown eyes and a toothy grin.

 _Oh, I’m in trouble here,_ Cas thought. All too easily he could imagine that damn wall, the cracks cutting through and causing some of the bigger pieces to lose their hold and smash on the ground. Leaving him defenseless, vulnerable, open to these kids, to—well, to his family.

Cas smiled back, an awkward, wide, but genuine smile. Katie giggled, looking on.

The fragile vulnerability and wall erosion only got worse when Cas took Gabriel up on the offer to hold Leela later on. He held his hands out, barely able to suppress the shaking as Gabriel placed the baby gently in Cas’s arms.

“Oh, look at you, Daddy,” Dean teased softly, looking on.

Leela was awake and she looked up at Cas curiously. She’d gotten the shape of Gabriel’s ears and his chin, he noticed.

Cas could hardly breathe. “H-hi, Leela,” he whispered. “I’m—I’m your uncle Cas.”

She made a face and squirmed, glaring at him.

Gabriel chuckled next to him and sat back in the armchair. “Yeah, she gets a little pissy at times. Don’t take it personal.”

“She’s five months old!” Cas protested, adjusting his grip a little. “It’s not like she’s a moody teenag—oohh.” He winced. Leela had gotten her foot in his stomach a little hard, hitting at an unlucky angle more than with any real force.

He didn’t have to look at Dean to know he was smirking. “I think I’m gonna like this kid,” Dean said with a grin in his voice.

Mikey and Katie were still on the floor across the room, watching, the half-assembled Mega Block wall abandoned. Katie ate another potato chip and wiped her hand on her pants. 

Cas wasn’t sure how long he held Leela, but it felt like a while. 

A little bit before Naomi had to leave for her doctor appointment, Dean suggested taking a picture. And Cas had to stop and think and figure out where there might be a disposable camera with film left on it in the house—his mother still clung to them, stubbornly resisting digital cameras.

Luckily, they managed to dig one up, but with just one photo left. “Ready?” Naomi asked as they all got into position. She thumbed the wheel to its ready position.

Cas tried. He really did. But he wasn’t sure he managed. He looked up at the lens with his lips curved up and eyes open, but _god_ …

He was feeling so much right now. Fear that this wouldn’t work out, or that it would, hope that things would start over, terror that he’d be judged once Gabriel knew the whole truth of what he’d done with the whole Metatron thing, feeling he wasn’t worth any of this, anger that he hadn’t tried harder, amazement at this little life he was holding and wonder at her future and how the same blood flowed in her, Katie’s, Mikey’s, and his veins, lingering shock at how much older Katie was and Mikey’s very existence…

And now that he’d held her so long she’d fallen asleep, he was also stunned and flattered and completely emotional over Leela’s tiny trust in him. She didn’t even know him, and yet she was comfortable here, in his arms.

Naomi snapped the picture.

When they got the film back a couple weeks later, it was a good one. Dean was on the right side of the image, supporting and brushing up next to Cas but not dividing him from his family. Gabriel was on Cas’s other side, grinning widely, leaning forward, one hand on Cas’s back.

Katie and Mikey were seated on the floor in front of the couch, Katie’s legs pretzeled together and Mikey insisting on bringing the blocks he’d been working on. At the last minute, Mikey had looked down at his blocks when Naomi hit the button, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

And Cas was smiling. He looked shaky, he looked scared, he looked emotional as hell—but dammit all, he also looked _happy._ Unmistakably so.


	30. Reaching Out to Sam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: none that I can think of; again, let me know if any are needed.

That night, long after Dean had gone to sleep and Cas had tried unsuccessfully to do as well, he climbed out of bed and stumbled to his computer.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking. He had lied awake, staring at the ceiling or the window, waiting to be tired enough to fall asleep, but nothing. Unable to stop thinking of a few different things. Different moments with Dean when his silence told volumes about how he obviously felt.

And the way it had felt to get back together with his brother: bittersweet, amazing to talk again, but tainted with that overlay of _so many lost years_ and _how can I ever begin to bridge that gap_ , that feeling of _I wasted so much time_ …

He yawned as he started his computer back up, wondering where the hell to begin. All he had right now to go on was a university— Stanford.

-

It was a few days before he got back a reply to the email sent out in the dead of night. (Cas wasn't sure how to start, and Charlie had suggested Facebook. He'd finally tracked Sam down, scrolling through each of Sam's name twins before finding a picture he recognized even before double-checking to make sure its owner had listed California as a location.) Cas knew he'd probably come off as not too eloquent and probably desperate— acting on impulse would do that to one's tone, not to mention writing at three AM— but he didn't care.

He'd had to register a new account to message Sam, but that was easily enough done.

_Dear Sam,_

_Hi. You don't know me but my name is Castiel. I'm seeing your brother Dean and I needed to reach out. Maybe this looks weird, I don't know. It's late and I haven't been to sleep. But I couldn't turn my brain off._

_Anyway. I recently reconnected with my brother after several years of not talking to him. It was the best decision I've made in a while. (It's a long story I can't get into right now, but it made me think.)_

_I know that you and Dean don't see each other much these days, and I can tell it affects him. I wanted to talk to you about reconnecting. I'm sorry if this is strange, hearing from me out of nowhere like this, and I understand if I've stepped over the line. Please accept my apologies, in that case, and I won't meddle again if I've gone too far._

_Thank you for your time._  
  


_Castiel Novak_

He hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting, and frankly, part of him wouldn't have been surprised if Sam hadn't replied at all. A random message in the middle of the night from a stranger was a bit odd, and he wasn't even sure if he was doing the Facebook thing right, anyway.

Hell, what if it wasn't the right Sam Winchester, but just someone that looked like him? The site was collecting users pretty fast, after all.

But… there it was, to his surprise.

_Castiel-_

_Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm not sure what specifically Dean has told you, but he and I haven't spoken in about four years. There was some family stuff that happened, that as you said about your own situation, would be hard to discuss over messaging. But you're right, I would like to talk to him again, to be honest. If that's possible._

_Actually, I've been thinking about coming out and trying to visit at some point but was unsure if I should. Please give me a call when you get a chance. Thanks for reaching out._

_Sam Winchester_

He'd left a number underneath his name.

Cas frowned at the message thoughtfully, wondering why Dean hadn't told him that the chasm between the two brothers was wider than first thought. Four years? Wow… He didn't know it was quite that long.

He scratched his chin and began to compose a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, this is in 2007ish, so Facebook isn't as commonplace. I actually had to google when fb was open to the public when I was writing, to make sure. Because I remember (vaaaaaaguely) when it was just schools. *bones crack and ache while I knit or something* :p


	31. Reunion: Winchesters Edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: alcohol cw, guns cw, food cw

_Three weeks later…_

Cas seemed distracted the whole time he and Dean were watching a movie that night. He fiddled with his lower lip, chewing it and twisting it with his fingers, occasionally checking his watch.

“Hon, you okay?” Dean laughed. “You're on pins and needles tonight. Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah. I'm fine.” His boyfriend let go of his mouth and twined his fingers together. “Just a bit restless, you know?”

Dean gave him a wary look, but shrugged it off. If Cas had something on his mind that he wanted to talk about, eventually he would. He wouldn't pry.

They returned to the movie for a few minutes. And Cas was no more restful than he'd been previously; he bounced his right leg fitfully and still kept checking his phone, his watch, the clock.

“Are you expecting someone or something?” Dean finally asked in amused exasperation.

“What? No!” Cas said, too fast.

_Hmmm…_

“Cas, what's going on?”

Cas's blue eyes were too wide, too innocent. “Nothing, Dean, I—”

Someone knocked at the door. Aha!

Dean nodded, beaming triumphantly as he all but leapt to his feet. “I knew it! Ha!” He pointed a finger at Cas. “You can't keep a secret worth shit, you know that?”

“Dean—”

But his mirth faded real fucking fast as he opened the door and saw the brother he'd cut ties with years before. _Shit._

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said sheepishly, a duffle bag over his shoulder.

Cas walked up behind Dean. Fuck, clearly he'd known about this.

“Uh, Cas didn't tell you I was coming, did he?”

Dean turned and glared at his boyfriend. “No. No, he did not. How come you didn't let me in on this little surprise?”

“I, well Dean, you wouldn't have agreed—”

“Whatever,” he cut Cas off, and turned to stare Sam down. Which wasn't as easy as it used to be, considering the extra height Sam had gained in the years he'd been away. Jesus. “What are you even _doing_ here?” Dean demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “You get bored of being Joe College, figured you’d come see how your brother’s slumming it?”

“Dean.” Cas grasped his shoulder, barely grazing it.

“Sorry.” Dean darted a glance at him. A thought occurred. “How much _do_ you know about all this, anyway?” He waved a hand back and forth, indicating the three of them. “How do you even know each other?” Dean wondered if Cas had answered his phone when Sam called at one point. Had to have been.

Sam set his bag down. “He got ahold of me online and we messaged first. Then exchanged numbers. I said I'd come out when winter break started.”

“Ohhh, so this has been going on a while, huh,” Dean said, staring Cas down.

Cas rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.”

Dean returned his attention to his brother. “Well? Whaddaya want?”

Sam took in a long breath. “It’s a few things. I missed you.” He hesitated, clearly unsure how to proceed, and then began again. “And Dad,” he said. “I—I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I wanted to try and reconnect. It’s been a long time.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something smart, but shut it. Now wasn’t the time. He let Sam go on instead.

“So I tried to call Dad a bunch of times, but he never picked up.” Sam glanced down. “And I tried to call _you_ a couple times, and you never did either, so…”

Ugh. Guilt. Dean's _favorite_ damn emotion. “I was— I was going to call you back, I just… Couldn't yet,” he muttered.

“…Anyway. Before I drove out here, I went to Lawrence first. I figured I’d just go there and face-to-face the whole thing, with Dad first,” Sam said. “So I flew out and tried to, to uh, see him. I kept trying— I still have my key. Well, um, obv— yeah. But he wasn't there.” He shifted his weight. “I stayed with Garth for a week or so and kept going to Dad's. He never showed up the whole time.”

Dean shrugged. “So? He'll stumble back in sooner or later.” And if Sam was still the genius he’d proved to be growing up, he wouldn’t be anywhere near that apartment when John _did_ show up.

“No, that’s n—” Sam scratched an eyebrow, lost in thought for a moment. “He left his cell phone and I saw a couple texts he hadn’t opened. From last week. I saw the bar on the missed call list. They left messages on his answering machine, too—Dean, he’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days. At _least_.”

The silence was thick.

Dean shut his eyes while he processed. Fuck. If John was gone long enough that his boss was calling… Generally, from what Dean remembered, John’s boss got along well enough with him. And John frequently had erratic hours. He’d get a stretch of a few days off, then end up having to work till close one night and open the next day.

John would’ve planned things around his shifts. “Not home for a few days” really had to mean _more_ than that. John wouldn’t have just taken off for a multiple day hunting trip right before having to work. He’d risked jobs too much in the past because of his drinking, and after a while he’d gotten a handle on basic vocational stability the way most adults had mastered at a much younger age.

If things had gotten to the point where John was noticeably absent from work without having called in, there was no way to know how long he’d been gone for. He could have missed a single shift—or he could have been gone for a longer time before then.

Sam was right. Something might have happened.

“Well, all right,” Dean muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll—yeah. I guess we should get on that, huh?” Next to him, Cas slipped his hand into Dean’s free one and squeezed reassuringly.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I could definitely use some help here. I can’t do this alone.”

“Yes, you can,” Dean protested half-heartedly.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to,” Sam mumbled.

Dean noticed Cas looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He squeezed Cas’s hand back before glancing over; Cas smiled encouragingly. Dean turned back to Sam. “You won’t have to. I’m in.”

-

It wasn’t _terribly_ late in Dean’s eyes, only about 11:00, but they ultimately decided it would be better to start out in the morning with clear heads and a fresh night’s sleep. Cas, especially, insisted that Sam stay the night. Dean suspected he wanted a chance to get to know him a little before sending the two away.

Dean did try to protest, though. “Cas, the guy’s missing and we’re gonna—what, sit here and braid Sam’s hair, is that it?” But he knew Cas had a point. They needed to figure out where to start, put together a plan of attack.

Sam and Dean sat around the dining room table, writing down what they knew so far. Which frustratingly wasn’t much. It was a Tuesday, and John had been into work to get his check the Thursday before last; Sam had seen the ripped pay stub on a counter. No idea if he’d gotten the more recent one, though.

His guns hadn’t been there, and an empty carton of beer had been sitting next to the full trash can. Dean almost pointed out that with their father’s aversion to the daily household minutiae like cleaning, it could have been there for weeks. But he knew they’d been packed on the trip. Possibly harder stuff, too. Dean bit his lip, wondering how many John had taken. He got pissy without at least some beer, but he still could get blackout drunk when he had the chance. And hell, they had no clue how long he would have been off work when he was leaving—he could have some serious drinks on him. Wouldn’t have been the first time their father had chosen his drinking over his health.

God. Their dad with guns and an unknown quantity of alcohol—there was a chance they might not find him in one piece.

Cas picked up on the tension between the brothers. “It’ll be all right,” he said softly, looking at them both. “Your father’s been hunting for how long? He knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s—” Awkward stop. Dean could practically see the _“oh shit”_ in his eyes as he realized there wasn’t a good way to finish that sentence. Either A, John was fine and simply blowing them off, or B, yeah, he knew what he was doing—usually—and something had happened.

Dean smiled at him anyway for the effort, reaching his foot over to Cas’s chair and nudging his toes against his boyfriend’s ankle. _Thanks_ , he mouthed. Cas nodded.

“Why don't you just call the police and report him missing?” Cas asked finally, starting again.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. Dean, for his part, was torn between laughter and wanting to bury his face in his hands. He let Sam explain. “We can't,” his brother said. “He'd be arrested immediately.”

Cas frowned, confused.

“Warrants,” Dean explained. “Drunk driving, drunk and disorderly, failure to appear in court, we don't even know, could be more. We figure we'll track him down first, give him a shot before the authorities get to him.”

“Ah.” Cas nodded, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“So,” Sam began, staring down at the grid of boxes he’d absentmindedly sketched in his margin. He started shading them in. “Where—where you working now?”

“Bobby’s,” said Dean. He shoved his chair back and stood to snag a beer himself. “Anybody want anything while I’m up?”

Cas shook his head.

“I’m good. And—really?” Sam asked. “ _Bobby_ Bobby? He ended up out here too? That's a weird little coincidence. But cool.”

“Yeah,” Dean said absently. He stood at the fridge, staring inside for a second as he remembered back. “He was out here visiting a bunch and after a while, ended up moving and setting up a new place. And I started working there about a year ago.” He didn't elaborate on his theory that if he still lived in Lawrence, there wouldn't be any way in hell that John would like that little situation. There had been some friction between the two… well, “friends” was a difficult way to describe it at this point, anyway.

He shook himself out of his reverie and grabbed a bottle so he could shut the damn door already.

Sam called out. “Hey, how’s he doing anyway? I wouldn't mind stopping to see him.”

Dean popped the top off and leaned back against the wall for a moment. “He’s Bobby, Sam, same as always.” _Everything’s the same. Why, second guessing the whole “running away” thing?_ He cringed at his own thoughts and rolled the lid between his fingers for a moment before heading back out to the table again. _Oh, don’t be a crybaby, Winchester. Spilled milk and all._

He sat back down and took a long swallow. “He used to ask about you, y’know.”

Sam’s eyebrows were raised. “Really? What’d you say?”

…Seriously?

Cas glanced back and forth between them, uncertain.

“I said I didn’t know.” Dean dropped his bottle to the table with a clatter and looked at Sam directly. “I said, ‘Well, Bobby, the brother who ran out on me and my dad? Who didn’t even _tell us_ about applying to school halfway across the country until, oh, two weeks before he had to leave? Yeah, we don’t hear from him. It’s like he forgot anyone here exists.’” He went to take another drink and stopped with the bottle halfway up, scoffing bitterly. “‘Or maybe he just hates us that much, who knows?’”

Sam frowned. “Dean, no, it wasn’t like tha—”

“Hell it wasn’t, Sammy. You could’ve at least let us know you were okay once in a while.” Dean glared, remembering the arguments he and John had gotten into about the whole thing. How much John blamed Dean for Sam leaving—on top of Dean already blaming himself.

“I _did_!” Sam exclaimed, a glower darkening his usually open face. “It was _school_ , Dean. It _is_ school. Not like I was moving to England or somethin—”

Dean leaned forward, pointing. “Couldn’t have gotten much farther away and still been in the country, though, could you? Christ, Sam, was living with us so terrible you had t—”

“Stop it,” Cas said suddenly. Clearly. His voice rang with authority.

Both brothers stopped talking.

Cas’s face was pale, his eyes shut. His fists were clenched and pressing against the table while his breath was a little rough. He wasn’t exactly racing into another room, but shit, Dean felt like a bastard. “Sorry,” he muttered, reaching over to unknot one of Cas’s hands and twist their fingers together.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He glanced at Dean in mild confusion. Dean shook his head briefly and waved the fingers of his other hand in a brief _don’t worry about it_ gesture.

Cas opened his eyes and squeezed Dean’s hand. “It’s okay.” He raised his eyebrows and very deliberately looked from Dean to Sam. When Dean didn’t say anything, he tilted his head forward a little and lifted his eyebrows again.

Dean took the hint. “And sorry, Sam,” he said, glancing at his brother. He took a long drink. Coughed. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. We’ve got more important things to worry about here than the past, right?”

Sam nodded. “It’s been a long night, anyway.” He lifted his head in Cas’s direction. “Guess you’re right about leaving tomorrow, Castiel. We could all use a good night’s sleep after all.”

“Cas. And yeah. Wouldn’t get a lot of work done tonight anyway,” Cas mumbled. His lips lifted at the corners in what was more of a brief gesture than a real grin. He stood up to leave and tucked in his chair.

Sam watched him walk back toward one of the bedrooms. “I like him. How long you been dating?”

“About nine months,” Dean said automatically, eyes glued to the hallway. The door hadn’t been closed, which was a good sign.

“How’d you meet?”

Dean glanced back at Sam. “He pulled me from hell,” he remarked, actually smiling.

“Okay. I cleared off the stuff from the bed in the guest room. There's a couple extra blankets in the closet in there if you need them, Sam,” Cas said as he reappeared. “And it was Kell’s, and that joke was never funny, you nerd,” he added to Dean.

“Shut up. I’m hilarious.” Dean tipped back his beer, finishing it off.

Sam still looked confused, so Dean elaborated. “I was at this bar, okay?” Sam looked like he wanted to make a smart-ass remark, so Dean quickly plowed on. “And I was drinking, like, a lot. Probably more than I should’ve been. And yeah, not a great night for me—I'd been up way too many nights in a row, too many overnight shifts.”

“Yeah,” Cas said, leaning back against the wall by the kitchen closet and watching him with knitted brows. “You still need to take better care of yourself. In general.”

Sam fiddled with his own beer, rotating it into a circle over the ring of condensation that had formed on the wood of the tabletop. He watched between Cas and Dean as they talked, seeming amused and a little concerned.

“I know, I know,” Dean sighed. “Anyway. I was so exhausted, I don’t even remember the entire night, but uh, three guys got me outside alone behind the bar, y’know, when I went to leave. And—” Dean gestured abstractly with a loose fist into his left palm, “—just _whaling_ on me, right? And this dorky little guy came running in—”

“I’m not ‘little,” Cas protested, interrupting again. “Just cause _you_ two are absurdly tall…”

Dean spun in his seat. “You’re short, get used to it,” he told Cas with a grin. He turned back to Sam. “So yeah. Anyway. He jumps in and knocks one of ’em clean out before anybody knows what’s happening.”

“It wasn’t much, I think I just took them by surprise,” Cas said. Dean stopped talking and stared at him expectantly. “Sorry.” Cas raised both hands. “Continue.”

“I was on the ground at this point, and I still don’t know _what_ Cas did, but he took the other two guys down enough that they backed off, and then he called 911. Next thing I remember, I’m waking up in the ER with this…” Dean faltered, sensing he was about to go to a gooey place Sam wouldn’t let him live down. “These blue eyes just _watching_ me all creepy and shit,” he said instead.

Cas snorted, half-covering his mouth. “You thought I was an angel.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sam laughed. 

_Goddammit, Cas._

“Jeez, Dean, really? You—no shit, you actually _said_ that?”

 _Don’t, Cas, please for the love of—_ Cas nodded with glee, his face lighting up.

“I did _not_ ,” Dean protested. Fuck, he was blushing, he could tell.

“I had no idea you were so _sappy_ , dude,” Sam said with a chuckle. “You could give Hallmark a run for their money.”

Dean dropped his head against one hand. “That—doesn’t even make any sense. And both of you? Can go to hell, all right?”

There was a silence. Then—

“Sure, Dean, but I’m not sure that’s where angels belong,” Cas said.

Sam laughed uproariously.

“Okay, screw this. I’m going to bed.” Dean shoved his chair back and got to his feet. Shit, he was still blushing. Damn Cas. Damn Sam. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“I’ll be in soon,” Cas called after him with a muffled, barely-concealed snicker. “I’ll—try not to wake you up with my wings if you’re asleep.”

Sam actually _giggled_.

“Fuck you both…” Dean gave ’em both a backward middle finger and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

-

In bed that night, Cas and Dean talked about the next day’s plans. Bobby was generally pretty understanding when shit happened—to a point, anyway; Dean had learned early on not to push things when working for him. The guy was a great friend, and as close to family as someone could get, but a no-bullshit boss.

Still, he wasn’t the least bit worried about calling off for the next few days. Although John and Bobby had grown apart, they’d still been friends once, and Dean knew he’d want to know what happened.

“It’s good to see you and your brother get along,” Cas said now, grazing a thumb along Dean’s jawline. He leaned forward and kissed him briefly. “Good luck. Just—be safe, all right?”

“I will,” Dean promised. “We will.” He rested their foreheads together and breathed, wanting to savor this moment. Or somehow pack it with him when he and Sam left.

Damn. What was _with_ him and sappiness when it came to Cas?

Under the covers, Cas trapped one of Dean’s legs between his own, body warmth from his calves seeping through Dean’s sweatpants.

He swallowed. “And—thanks for contacting him.” There was more he could have said. Should have said.

But Cas understood, brushing his hand down the back of Dean’s neck, his fingers lightly stroking the short hairs. “You’re welcome,” he whispered, and kissed him again.

-

Nobody spoke much in the morning. A heaviness hung in the air; both dread about the task ahead of the brothers, and nervousness over the frayed relationship and its aftereffects on their journey.

Cas sat at the table with his coffee in both hands, letting the warmth radiate through the ceramic and into his palms as he glanced into the kitchen. Dean was standing at the counter near the sink, whipping up sandwiches for the road and occasionally stopping to sip his own coffee. Cas knew he didn’t really have much money to spend on drive-throughs or diners, and he’d be too stubborn to accept any money Sam offered.

Sam sat at the other end of the table as Cas, loose fist up near his mouth, looking lost in thought.

“Hey, uh…” Dean turned to look over at them. “Sam, you want me to pack you anything specific?” He took a half-step back and gestured to the fridge. “We got like, ham, turkey, cheese, the basics… Lettuce, tomato… We’re out of bacon, though. I’m throwing in some standards. Nothin’ fancy yet.”

“Nah, I’m all right,” Sam said, setting his hand on the table. “Anything’s good.” He offered the faintest smile, and Dean nodded and went back to work.

Dean began slipping the sandwiches into baggies and pressing the seals closed. He opened and closed a couple drawers, frowning.

Cas cleared his throat and pointed. “Hon, there’s a—a new bag of chips in the upper left cabinet there,” he said. “I think there’s those pretzels or something too.”

“Oh, okay. Great, thanks.” Dean tossed them on the counter and then poked his head out of the kitchen area. “Hey, Sam, there’s a big green cooler in the closet over there.” He lifted his chin toward the closet near the apartment door. “Wanna grab it for me?”

“Sure.” Sam retrieved it, and they started loading up: bottles of water, beer, sandwiches, then the chips. “No ice, huh?” Sam said. “We’ll grab some on the way.”

Cas observed both of them with a curious eye. He wondered how things would go when they were alone—if the ill will between them would resurface, or if this trip would bring them closer together.

He wished for the latter, whatever happened at the end of the search. Getting back in touch with Gabriel had changed his life for the better, and Cas only hoped the same would happen for Sam and Dean.


	32. Awkward Silences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: homophobia mention/ internalized homophobia mention

Sam and Dean drove for a while in awkward silence, both brothers unsure what, if anything, to say at first. How were you supposed to bridge the gap four years had left?

But the more they drove and the longer the silence stretched on, the more Dean thought about Cas. And Gabriel. And the father that—even now—Cas wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable or even _safe_ enough to get back in touch with.

Dean didn’t want himself and Sam to be another Cas and Gabriel. He thought of Cas holding Leela that day, her tiny form snuggled safely in his arms. He mused about how she would grow up knowing her uncle, as if he’d never been gone from the family to begin with.

Whereas with Katie and Mikey, things were a little different. Dean thought of Cas joking with them, the kids laughing. Cas coloring with them, the kids drawing him pictures. Cas saying they’d had a good time when he took them to the movies. They were bonding, making up for lost time, there was no doubt about that. They were still behind, but they were well on their way, at least.

Still, the whole situation kind of sucked. He knew Cas regretted all the time he’d lost out with them.

Sam coughed, glancing out his side window as Dean stopped briefly at a four-way stop and then moved on.

He thought of Sam and Jessica. The way Sam talked about her, his whole face lighting up. The grin he’d had when they’d talked about her. Dean had never, ever seen his brother that way with anybody before—like he hadn’t known what he was missing until now, and he’d _found_ it finally.

“You okay?” Sam asked him, breaking into his chain of thought.

“Nnnn. Yeah. I’m good,” Dean mumbled.

What if Sam and Jessica stayed together long-term? Had kids? Dean pictured them, shaggy-haired and probably as wild about books as their father, unaware of their uncle because he and Sam were too damned stubborn to throw in their pride?

He cleared his throat. “Sam, I’m sorry,” he blurted out before he could over-think it.

Sam’s face was priceless when he glanced over. He was slack-jawed and stunned, literally open-mouthed. “Dude. I _never_ … thought you’d say that.”

Dean scoffed, making a right turn. “Well, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t _completely_ to bl—I wasn’t completely wrong, Sam. It _was_ out of nowhere. You could’ve—uh, a little warning would have been great. But, uh, yeah. I said some shit I regret, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I was… I was out of line there too, though. And you’re right—I should’ve said something a lot sooner. I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean didn’t really know how to answer that. Finally he nodded. “Yeah. Well… We’re talking now, right?”

“Uh-huh.” There was a marked difference in Sam’s voice, an actual uplift in mood that Dean could discern even without looking over. “It’s a nice change.”

At that, Dean had to bite back a smile. Until then he hadn’t even realized _how_ heavy the weight on his shoulders had been until it was lifted. No, he and Sam weren’t brothers again the way they used to be, but hell, just these few exchanges put them pretty far on the road to reconciliation.

God, he was getting maudlin again.

After a quiet couple of miles, Sam spoke up again. “So… Cas.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile this time. He fought with it for a moment and then gave up. “Yeah,” he said simply.

“Dude, look at you!” Sam exclaimed. “You’re actually blushing!”

“Shut up. I am not.” But dammit, he was right. Dean could feel a warmth in his cheeks. And that ridiculous grin wasn’t going away, as if it were glued on his face.

Sam chuckled. “Wow. I mean… _wow_ , Dean. I’ve never seen you act like this. You’re really in deep.”

Dean couldn’t find it in him to protest the teasing. Not when it was true.

“It kind of reminds me of how you were with Li—” Sam abruptly cut himself off so suddenly that Dean looked over, half-wondering if he’d passed out midsentence or something.

But no. Sam was staring wide-eyed through the windshield, his lips pressed together, clearly thinking _Shit shit shit shit shit._

Lisa Braeden was a sensitive subject for Dean. They’d dated for a few months, and for a while he’d thought she might be the one he could settle down with. Even at nineteen. Even though she’d had a son less than a year old.

But things had come to a bit of a messy end when he was out drinking one night. He’d overestimated his reaction time, or underestimated how much he’d actually had to drink, something. And he’d gotten behind the wheel of his car.

Lisa had been driving her son Ben back from a late night trip to the ER for an ear infection, and he’d gone through a light that was going from yellow to red. He ended up swiping the rear of her car, on the opposite side that Ben was on.

Neither Lisa nor Ben were seriously injured. But Dean knew Lisa was never able to forgive him for the accident, no matter how much she swore she did. He couldn’t forgive himself, either. And things were never the same between them.

The last time Sam had brought Lisa up, Dean had said, “ _If you ever mention Lisa or Ben to me again, I will break your nose. I’m not kidding_.” The topic was seriously off-limits.

Dean exhaled, absently scanning the road signs for the one that their father’s bar was on. “Sam, it’s okay,” he said.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean t—” Sam swallowed the rest of his words.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” The topic hung heavy in the air. “So,” Dean began, trying to veer the conversation back off the uncomfortable memory. “How d’you like him? Cas?”

“He’s good!” Dean looked over to see a genuine smile on Sam’s face. “He is. Seems like he cares a lot about you. You guys get along well, I was glad to see it.”

There was the road he was looking for. Dean swung a left onto it. “Yeah… He’s a good guy,” he agreed. He held up his finger and thumb a fraction of an inch apart. “Just a—a little off sometimes, but it’s cool. That’s part of the reason I like him. He’s—he’s unique. I like it.”

Sam nodded in his peripheral vision. “Uh-huh. I didn’t get a whole lot of time to talk to him, but yeah.” He paused like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t go on.

The bar was a ways down this road. Or had he misjudged? Was it the other way? Dean frowned, unsure. He didn’t particularly care for the one his—their—dad worked at, so he wasn’t out this way enough to know the area well.

“I’m just kinda—kind of, uh…”

Dean had been waiting for this. He glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “What? Surprised that I’m with a guy? Disappointed?”

“ _What_? Dude, no,” Sam said vehemently. “C’mon, you know me. I don’t judge. I wasn’t gonna say _that_. I’m not Da—I’ve never been homophobic.” He shook his head. “No, I was gonna say, I’m happy for you. If I’m surprised, it’s only because I didn’t think you’d ever accept that part of yourself. You know, be all… Openly _with_ someone. I like it.”

Oh.

“Eh, well, it took some time.” Dean chewed the inside of his lip, remembering his first attempt at a relationship with another man. Ash, a guy he’d met at the garage. “I was with this one guy for a while, and we were—we did the friends thing first, and I didn’t really realize we were basically dating for a few weeks. I was, y’know, gettin’ to a point where I was okay with it, with myself, but when he wanted to move our—our relationship out in the open…”

Ugh. Bad memories. Another story with guilt.

He sighed. “Ash hung in there probably longer than he should’ve, but I was—I couldn’t—I was too much of a wuss, and it wasn’t fair to him. Honest, I don’t blame him for bailing.”

Sam clicked his tongue. “Yeah. Sounds rough.”

“Was rough.” There, up ahead. That was the bar on the right, just coming into view.

They drove the rest of the way without saying anything else.


	33. Jess & Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: none that I can think of; lmk if I need any

_Who is this?_ Cas wondered, frowning down at the unfamiliar number on his phone display. The area code was 650—not a local one. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, is this Castiel?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes. Yes, that’s me,” Cas said. “Who is this?”

The woman exhaled. “Okay, good! I’m Jessica. Jessica Moore. Sam’s girlfriend.”

“Oh! Jessica! Hello. How are—how are you?” Cas switched the phone to his other ear.

Jessica’s voice was warm, friendly already. “I’m all right. Sorry if this is awkward, but I was thinking—we should get to know each other. Maybe?”

“That’s—All right,” said Cas. He sank down into a seat at the table. “How are things in California, Jessica?”

“Oh, please, call me Jess,” she said with a chuckle. “Things are good here. It’s a little hard to concentrate at school, though, at the moment.”

Cas sighed. “I know what you mean.” He drummed his fingertips anxiously on the tabletop, trying not to worry too much.

They didn’t speak for a few minutes.

Then… “Have you heard anything?” Jess asked uncertainly.

“Nothing new. Dean called a couple hours ago to say they didn’t have any leads yet, but they were doing well.”

Jess _mmhmm_ ed. “Same here—Sam texted me a little while ago.”

“Do…” Cas spoke cautiously. “Do you think they’ll find him?”

“I’m not sure,” Jess admitted. “I hope so. But I really don’t know.” She sighed. “All we can do is wait and hope, I guess…”

Cas bit the side of one nail. “Yeah…”

-

Jess called again, the next afternoon. It was a Friday. “Sam just called,” she said. “They talked to one of John’s friends, Frank Devereaux, and he said he talked to John last Thursday. He was gonna go up to Shawnee National Forest. It’s this area in Illinois John went to a couple of times, with another friend he had, someone he met when Sam and Dean were kids but who lives way out that way now. Frank said he was gonna see if he could find anything. He wasn't sure if John's friend went with him— sorry, I can't remember what the other guy's name is.”

“It's okay. And that’s good. Uh, that they have a lead, I mean,” Cas amended. He paused, thinking. “How—how has Sam been?”

“What do you mean?” Jess sounded confused.

Cas cleared his throat. “I—I mean, about his—his and Dean’s father. Has he talked about him before this? And—I just mean, how is his attitude toward him?”

There were a few long moments of quiet while Jess thought. Finally, “I don’t think even Sam himself knows what he feels about his dad. He loves him, I know that. But John hurt him really bad, Cas, when he rejected him that night.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dean said,” Cas said softly. Sometimes it reminded him of how he’d talked about his _own_ father when he was a teenager. Angrily, hostilely—but still he talked. If he truly didn’t care about Chuck anymore, he wouldn’t have brought him up at all, would he? “And that’s kind of… Dean will talk about him sometimes, but I can—you can, um, tell he’s conflicted.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jess agreed. “Sam’s the same. That’s part of the reason I really hope they find him.”

Cas stood up and started pacing around, not having any real goal in mind, but paused in his tracks. His computer was on the dining table and on idle. The screensaver was on, flickering through various photos, some of himself and Dean. His attention wandered a little as Jessica spoke; he thought about how different things would have been if Sam had been in Dean's life the whole time.

Hopefully, this little reunion of their wouldn't be a one-time thing.

“Cas? You still there?”

He blinked. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. He shifted the phone to his other ear. “Yeah, I'm still here.” Cas took a seat at the table and crossed his arms as photos faded into each other and disappeared.

Jessica chuckled. “You sound distracted.”

“I'm fine,” Cas said softly. A photo of Mikey and Katie appeared for a few seconds. He smiled and then turned away to focus on the conversation. “Jess? I gotta tell you. I really hope things work out for them. For so many reasons.”

“Yeah. Me too. Sam has been… He's been happy, but… _Not_ -happy, too, you know what I mean?”

He knew _exactly_ what she meant. And no matter what happened at the end of this expedition, Cas could only pray that Sam and Dean stayed in touch. God knew they both needed it.


	34. End Of The Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: minor character death, shock, trauma, homophobia mention

“…I need to know what the fuck happens, though,” Sam said, barely holding back a mix of alarm and amusement that wanted to burst forth in the form of completely inappropriate laughter. It wasn't funny. It _really_ , really fucking wasn't. It was kind of terrifying, honestly.

But at the same time? The thought of his older brother standing up to their father? With a bonus of staking a claim to his own happiness, something he so rarely ever did? _And_ the thought that Dean would basically be following in his own footsteps, something that was sort of backwards considering that Dean was the older one?

Mixed with how tight his nerves were the longer they went without finding their father, yeah. Kind of made him want to let out the stress with a giggle or two.

Dean shook his head. “Me too,” he said.

“What, you're— you're not gonna do it?” Sam looked over curiously, then returned his attention to the area of the forest they'd just started searching. He shone his flashlight around. They could still see pretty well, but it couldn't hurt to have additional light.

“I’m—yeah, I’m not gonna tell him _anything_ for now,” Dean had said as they crunched through the woods. “Dad? Hey, you out here?” Every now and then they made an effort to call for him, but they hadn’t heard anything.

“Well…” Sam sighed. He tripped over a root but caught himself quickly. “On one hand, I almost want to argue with you on principle.” Ducked under a thick, low-hanging branch. “I mean, you’re—you’re like, in this serious relationship, and it’s—it’s good for you both. You’re improving each other, I can tell. I can _see_ how Cas is changing you.”

Dean scoffed, trudging along next to him.

“No, I mean it,” Sam went on. “You’re not as—as bitter as you used to be. And I’m sure you’ve been good for him too.” He looked over and grinned, catching the way Dean’s ears went pink as he glanced away to hide a blush. “So, uh, yeah. He’s a big part of your life. Probably as big a part as Jess is to mine.” He thought fleetingly of the money he’d been putting aside for a ring and half-smiled before turning serious.

“But at the same time…” Sam fell silent as they started up a steep incline. “Dad? Daaaad!”

“Dad!” Dean echoed.

No response. They’d gotten used to it.

Sam continued hesitantly. “I’m… I don’t see Dad ever…”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said dully. “Dad’s a homophobic dick. Why do you think it took so long for me to come to terms with myself to begin with?” He shook his head. “I just—It is what it is. He is who he is. I’ll deal with it when I have to.”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled.

They walked without speaking for a while, listening to the occasional crack of sticks underfoot, hidden by the snow. The rise of the incline got sharply steeper for a short time and then leveled out. The trees thinned until they arrived at a small clearing with what looked like a sudden drop-off just ahead.

“Well, this is a dead end,” Dean declared in annoyance.

Sam nodded absently, looking around. The clearing they’d reached was smaller. Probably only about a hundred feet across and maybe sixty or so feet from the last few trees to the edge. They could see more of the trail below where they were, but it was a sharper drop than they’d realized from farther back—hard to tell the height from here, Sam thought as he took a step closer, but at least forty feet.

“All right,” Dean muttered, unfolding his crossed arms. “Let’s go back and start checking from that other trail.” He started to turn back.

“Well, wait, let’s see if there’s a way down, though,” Sam suggested. He took a step closer and peered over, seeking a path. Frowned. “Not sure,” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Dean. “Doesn’t seem to be, from what I can tell…”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s just go.”

“Fine, okay.” Sam nodded and took one last look back down. Just in case. Nah, still no path. He turned back toward Dean, ready to leave.

And stopped.

Wait.

_Wait._

Was that…?

Sam jerked his head back so fast his hair swung into his eyes. It was. It— _shit!_

“Hey.” Dean’s voice rang out from behind him. “You comin’?”

Sam gaped in horror. Down along the bottom of the cliff, half-buried in snow and blending in with the rocks close by, was a black boot.

“Sam?”

He— _No._

Down a little farther, the snow hadn’t completely covered everything. It had done a good job for the most part. But there was a face. A partial face. A face he’d missed. Easy to miss at that angle.

“Hey, you okay?”

Was his face really that white and waxy or was there something—maybe snow—on his skin?

Their father. It couldn’t be. Not him. Some other poor bastard.

“Sam, what’s going on?”

He had to get down there, somehow. See if… But _no_ , it couldn’t be him. It _couldn’t_ be. How the hell was he supposed to fucking get down to check? There was no goddamned path—it—

Dean was just behind him now. “Sam? What is it?” He started past him, heading for the edge.

“No. No, Dean, don’t!” Sam cried out, breaking out of his paralysis. He caught Dean by the back of his jacket collar and yanked him back roughly.

“What the hell are you d—”

“It’s Dad!” Sam cried out. “Don’t look!” Dean strained violently, the denim nearly snapping out of Sam’s grip, so Sam frantically clenched his arms around his chest from behind one by one to restrain his brother.

Dean squirmed. “The fuck are—I _have_ to!” He managed to free himself and stumbled to the edge, scanning the spot that had paralyzed Sam.

Sam knew when he’d seen. Dean’s eyes widened and he staggered back. “No. No, no, no…”

“We gotta call 911,” Sam mumbled brokenly, mouth dry. Dizzily he pictured an ambulance. No siren. Too late. But what else. Who else could they call? Morgue?

“No. God, no, Dad—” And then Dean was hyperventilating, palms to his temples, shaking his head violently.

Sam stood in front of him, trying to block any view Dean might have still had. He put both hands on Dean’s shoulders tightly. “It’s—We’ll be—” _No, we won’t be okay_ , he thought randomly, what the hell were they gonna do?

He had a sudden random, half-insane urge to laugh. _Orphans. Oh shit. We’re orphans now. I’m Little Orphan Sammy._

 _Hold it together, goddammit_ , he ordered himself. _Focus._ “Let’s just—I’ll call, okay? Just hold on.” He helped his brother to a fallen log in the woods they’d passed earlier. Sam swiped snow off it. “Sit. Breathe.”

Dean nodded, eyes unfocused; his breathing odd and shaky.

Sam dialed.


	35. Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: shock, character trauma, grief/loss

Sam had been priding himself all day and night on Not Reacting, Not Crying, Not Giving Up and letting his father win. John hadn’t given a damn enough to reconnect with him in life—why the hell should Sam give two shits just because the guy was dead?

He’d done fine-ish when he’d gotten that glimpse of John’s boot, fine-ish while trying to restrain Dean from looking. The shock had held everything at bay then. Not that shock was a good thing—but still. He could admit that much.

He’d been all right while waiting for the police, while dealing with the questions and the paperwork. It had to be dealt with, after all. Might as well focus on that. Channel all his remaining energy into the distraction. (He didn’t need a distraction, he didn’t—he could focus—he was _all right_!)

Dean had been at his side, so white-faced Sam was afraid he’d pass out from shock. So it was left up to Sam to answer as much as he could about their father—and honestly, it had sounded as if Dean hadn’t been in enough recent contact with John to be helpful anyway.

Sam had also been okay on the long drive home, okay with the silence that suffocated them but was only slightly easier to handle than speaking was. At one point, he’d turned on the radio, switching it to the first classic rock station he could find. But when he glanced over at Dean, his stomach clenched; his brother had had _no_ reaction whatsoever, staring as emptily out his side of the windshield as he had before. Not even a muscle twitch in his face, not so much as a glance back at Sam. Just the same blank, pale look.

…So technically Sam hadn’t been _okay_ on the drive, exactly. But he wasn’t not-okay about John’s death. He was worried about Dean; he hadn’t had a lot of brainpower left to spare for his own sake.

Not that he would. Not that Da—that _John_ deserved it.

He was good. He was handling it.

He was even doing well enough to be surprised when they showed up and saw Jess there. For a second or two Sam had thought he was hallucinating, and then the gears had started to turn in his head and he realized that with all the hours it took to drive back from Shawnee National Forest, she would have had more than enough time to book a last-minute flight and get there.

Dean, on the other hand, just seemed to accept it, no surprise in his face, as if she'd always been there.

Really, Sam was okay. He was _fine_ , he was doing good. And he tried to tell Jess this, but for some reason the words didn’t want to cooperate. They locked up in his throat; there was some weird lump there they couldn’t seem to make it past. There was the fleeting thought: _I should see a doctor about that._

“I’m go—” he tried to say again, on the bed in Dean and Cas’s guest room. He stared at the doorjamb of the closet across from him, somewhere in the back of his mind registering a section of paint missing. The fleck of white against tan drew his eyes for no real reason

“I’m all ri—all ri—”

Jess was lying behind him. She leaned over him and brushed his hair back behind one ear. “Shhh,” she soothed. “I know. I know, Sam.”

Sam shook his head slightly. “Nnn-nnn, I’m—it’s really—it doesn’t even ma—” The closet blurred. What the hell was wrong with his eyes? He tried to take in a deep breath but it came in wrong, all shaky and gasped.

“I love you. I love you. I’m here,” Jess whispered, still stroking his hair.

He gave up on speech. And then he realized what was going on with his sight when he blinked, wetness trickled over the bridge of his nose and down his temple as he gave into the tears.

-

Dean hadn’t said a word since they’d found John. He couldn’t. Something inside him had completely locked up, locked him down tight.

For the first time ever, he thought he might know what it was like when Cas had described the occasional silence in his head. It wasn’t the same. A different flavor, whatever the simile. But it felt safer, less real, if Dean didn’t speak. This wasn’t happening.

He could feel Sam’s eyes on his. Sam, checking on him as he drove. Worrying. And if Dean could have broken himself out of this, he’d have tried to reassure him. But talking wasn’t an option right now.

Music, at one point. Dean was aware of the difference between silence and sound. But barely. He couldn’t have said what it was, or even if he’d ever heard it before.

Then they were home and trudging up the stairs one after the other, so many stairs, too many of them, and Cas was opening the door with—Jess, when did Jess get there? Dean blinked in mild surprise.

“Hey, Jess, hi,” Sam said, and they hugged.

“Sam… Dean,” Cas said, brow creased. He wrapped his arms around Dean and Dean closed his eyes and sank into his embrace, burying his face in Cas’s neck.

He was half-aware of Sam and Cas exchanging words and Jess interjecting in concern, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t find it in him to care or listen better or talk. He heard “ _shock_ ” and “hasn’t spoken” and “worried” but he just kept holding onto Cas.

“…—ou’re all set up in the guest r—” Cas was saying to Sam. Dean zoned out again.

He thought good nights were said. Sam and Jess, disappearing into another room, Sam casting one last anxious glance his way. Still, Dean couldn’t say anything.

And then he and Cas were in their room and Cas was asking him if he wanted to change into sweats but he shook his head.

Lying together on top of rumpled covers, Dean on his back and Cas on his side next to him. Staring across the room at a painting on the wall without really seeing it, vaguely registering colors in swaths of maroon and pine and gray.

Cas’s voice. A soft murmur of sound slowly becoming recognizable words. “…okay, Dean, I’m here, just breathe—” A hand securing itself across his waist, a warmth at his side. “You’ll be okay, I love you, I’ve got you, it’s all right…”

He blinked several times and turned his head to face Cas. “Hey,” he croaked, his voice fogged and throaty. Tried again. “Hi.” He coughed, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything else.

Cas’s lips curved into a near smile. “Hello, Dean.” He rested his hand against the side of Dean’s face, gently stroking his fingertips through Dean’s hair. They didn’t say anything else.

After a while, Cas kissed him lightly and rested his forehead against Dean’s temple.

Dean turned to face him and slipped his arms around him, pulling Cas in against his body, grounding himself in the feel of his boyfriend’s warmth and presence. He breathed.

Cas stroked his back, murmuring soothing _shhhhhh_ ing noises. “It’s okay,” he said every now and then.

Dean clenched his eyes shut tightly, eyelids burning from the exhaustion of pushing away everything all day and night. And he finally, finally started to cry.


	36. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: death, grief/loss, fire mention

Dean fiddled with his tie, uncomfortable down to his core. Physically. Mentally. Ugh, he didn’t look right in this thing, but he couldn’t exactly show up in denim and plaid, now could he?

“I got it, babe, hold on,” Cas said from the bathroom doorway. He’d been leaning against the door frame, and he pushed off now to step forward, straightening Dean’s tie. “You…” He trailed off, eyes flicking down to take Dean in fully.

“What?” Dean frowned. “Go on. Make your joke.”

Cas shook his head. “Hm-mmm. Just the opposite. I was going to say—you look really good like this, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever…” As Cas stepped back, he returned the favor and appraised _him_. “You, on the other hand…” He gave a low whistle. “Damn. You seein’ anybody?”

“Yes, but he’s not as good looking as you. And he might get jealous,” Cas quipped with a mostly straight face. A lopsided grin broke through, and he pretended to check that the coast was clear. “But he’s not around, so…”

God, they were both such dorks. But the light banter was keeping Dean’s mind off how uneasy he felt, at least. He fit his hand to the familiar spot on the back of Cas’s neck and pulled him in, pressing their lips together for a brief moment.

The door to the guest room opened.

Cas and Dean broke apart in time to see Sam and Jess walking out. “Huh,” Sam said.

Dean held up a finger. “Shut it,” he warned.

Sam scoffed. “I just said ‘Huh.’”

“I just said ‘shut it,’ Dean muttered, fixing his cuffs.

Jess shot Cas a sideways glance, her lips twitching. Cas shrugged.

“I saw that.” Dean checked himself one last time in the bathroom mirror. Well… This was as ready as he was gonna be. “All right. Let’s, uh, do this, huh?”

Sam nodded.

-

The Impala could fit all four of them, so they didn’t bother to drive separately.

Sam and Dean both recognized Bobby’s Chevelle as they pulled into the parking lot. They glanced over toward the entrance to the funeral home and saw him waiting to meet them under the overhang, hands in his jacket pocket.

“Sam. Dean,” he said when they all walked up. “I’m sorry.” Nodded to Cas. “Castiel.” He turned to Jess. “And… this must be Jessica. Hi. I’m Bobby.”

Jess reached her hand out, and Bobby shook it. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Polite minutiae over with, they started for the doors.

-

It wasn’t the greatest experience of Dean’s life, by far. But somehow he survived it, survived the seemingly-endless parade of people that blurred into meaningless faces after a while. Survived all the “I’m so sorry”s and “God is with you”s, the “how are you holding up?”s and “I’ll pray for you”s; the uncomfortable hugs and earnestly sad looks from those he only dimly recognized or hadn’t heard from in years.

He wondered how Sam managed it, standing right there facing them all along with him. Sam looked stoic but pale, almost as if he were still somewhat numb. Jess had her arm looped through his, holding on tight, an anchor.

Cas, too. He stood on Dean’s other side, calmly and discreetly grasping his hand between them. Dean could feel himself drawing strength, comfort, peace from his presence and the warm touch of his fingers. He squeezed Cas’s hand gratefully as the last of the visitors passed and the music of the service began.

-

Neither Sam nor Dean had felt comfortable with the idea of making a long, eloquent speech, but they figured they’d both have to say _something_. So after the eulogist spoke for a while and made his deal over what a Wonderful Man John was and how much he’d be Dearly Missed (like he’d ever fucking _met_ the guy, seriously), Sam got up from their huddled group in one of the first pews and made his way to the pulpit.

“When I was almost seven…” Sam began hesitantly. His voice gradually strengthened as he spoke. “I ran away from home. I was angry because Dad wouldn’t buy me a bike, like my brother’s. I’d practiced on his for months, until I was confident enough that I knew I wouldn’t need training wheels. I wanted to walk my dad into a bike shop, and when they asked about a bicycle with training wheels, I could say all proudly, ‘Nope! I don’t need ‘em!’”

There was a wave of polite laughter from everyone listening. Dean nearly smiled, remembering. Sam hadn’t been _quite_ as sneaky as he’d thought, and there were a couple of times Dean had seen him from a window when he thought Dean was too preoccupied to notice.

Sam continued, brushing an errant lock of dark hair behind one ear. “And I didn’t know it, but my dad had already bought me one for my birthday. He kept it at work so it would be safe from ‘nosy kids.’” Air quotes and more polite chuckling from his audience. “So he said no when I asked. And asked, and asked, and asked. I begged for weeks before I threw the tantrum. Yelling, crying, whining… You know how kids can get. Finally, to cap it off, I yelled ‘You like Dean better than me!’ And I ran outside and keyed Dad’s car with a rock.”

An amusingly stunned gasp rose up from everyone who knew _anything_ about John Winchester and the Impala.

Sam nodded at them, and Dean bit back a grin in spite of himself, remembering back. He hadn’t known, of course, about the bike that John had bought. He’d just thought his father was being weirdly strict for no reason.

As for the car keying… Sam had yelled and run out, John had pinched the bridge of his nose and slammed a fist into the wall, and Dean had darted to the window in time to see his brother dragging a small rock along the length of the car.

John was _livid._ And he’d been about to leave for work when he and Sam were having it out, so he’d had to actually drive off with Baby all damaged. He’d made threatening noises, but he was running late and had to leave quickly.

Dean would’ve caught Sam if he’d tried to run away right then, but his brother was smart, even then. He’d sulked a while and waited until Dean was distracted with homework, and then he’d said something about going to visit a friend at another apartment. Dean, not thinking, said yes, but by the time John came home, Dean had figured it out and was out of his mind with worry, since the friend hadn’t seen Sam at all.

“…and when Dad and my brother finally tracked me down at the nearby K-Mart, Dad was furious,” Sam said now. He flipped a page. Another piece of hair fell again, but he didn’t brush it back yet. “When we got home, after he grounded me, he said that—” Pause for breath. “That it—it didn’t matter what I’d done, I didn’t need to run away. But that if I did, I could always come home.

“Eleven years later I left for Stanford,” Sam continued. He glanced up now at everyone listening. “And—and I…” His voice faltered. Eyes down to the page again. “It was never meant to be for good. It was never meant to be a door locked behind me. But Dad and I… We fought about it. And… I let time go by. Too much time.”

Sam visibly struggled for control. “I wish I’d kept that day in mind. I wish I’d—that I’d remembered. Because he was right. You _can_ always come home.” He turned to the portrait of their father. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner. I’m—I’m sorry, Dad.” With that, the tears couldn’t be held back any longer and he started down.

Dean bit his lips together and lowered his head, trying in a last ditch effort to compose himself. Shit. How was he going to do this?

“Breathe. Deep breaths,” came Cas’s voice, low. Dean managed to unlock his jaw and turned to meet his eyes. “You can do this,” Cas reassured him. “But it’s okay if you change your mind.”

Sam stepped back into their pew and all but collapsed back into his seat. Jess wrapped both arms around him, one along his chest and one along his back.

Dean hugged his brother as well for a short moment, lending him what he could of his own strength. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he said quietly, patting him on the back a couple of times. He looked back at Cas. “No, I—I need to do this. It’s all right.”

“Okay.” Cas squeezed his hand one more time, and Dean got to his feet.

It was important that he speak. Not just because of what he had to say about his father, but for Sam’s and his own sake as well. And Cas’s. Bobby’s. Jess’s. Hell, anybody else out there that might get something out of it.

Up in front of everyone, though, it was easy to remember why he’d been so unsure. His hands actually quivered a little as he unfolded his pages.

“My—my dad had a friend when Sam and I were very young,” he began with a dry mouth and a voice that was embarrassingly shaky at first. He cleared his throat. “A-Azazel. He and Dad were pretty close. Close enough that my parents let him watch me and Sam when they needed a sitter.”

He swallowed and tried to moisten the inside of his mouth. Licked his lips. That helped, slightly. “One night, our parents went out on a date. They had Azazel stay with us and said they might be back a little later than usual, but he said it was okay.”

Dean could practically feel the hot air again, the sudden, strange heat all around him, the brightness, the—coughing, hard to breathe, why—

Push on. Keep reading. He wasn’t four, he was 26.

“That night, Azazel played with us, fed us, put a movie on, and tucked us into bed,” Dean continued. “Then he went downstairs to smoke.” For a short moment, he glanced up from the page and looked at Cas and then Sam. Cas’s face was radiating warmth and love; Sam’s showed sorrow and support.

“Azazel didn’t mean to fall asleep,” said Dean. “But he did. And when my parents came home, the house was on fire.” He swallowed. “My—my parents both ran in to get us out, but my mom and Azazel didn’t make it.”

The church was silent.

Again he felt like he was back there. Tired, confused, Daddy holding Sammy next to him, the cool night air a relief, the heat in the house had been so hard to breathe, where was his mommy, the house so scary-bright and burning, the flames, _why didn’t his mommy come outside yet_ —

Dean shook his head, returning to reality. “After that, my dad started keeping people at a distance. He still had friends from time to time, but he didn’t let them get too close. And he never let anybody babysit us. When we got to be old enough, he’d leave us on our own rather than hire someone to watch us.” He’d tactfully decided to leave out how old they’d been when John had started doing that. Not the point.

“Dad told us a couple times that you can only count on family,” Dean went on. He looked up from the page again, glancing at everyone watching. He shook his head again, more slowly and deliberately this time, a denial, a definite _no_. “He was wrong. You can count on family, but they’re not the only ones.” He met Jessica’s gaze. “You can count on people to be there for your family, to be good new friends…” She smiled, leaning her head against Sam’s shoulder.

He located Bobby in the row behind theirs. “You can count on people to be supportive, to be a part of the family you never would have known otherwise…” Bobby scoffed softly, but Dean could tell he was pleased.

“And you can count on people to be there for you,” Dean said. Cas looked on fondly, practically giving him heart eyes. “To open up whole new parts of your personality you didn’t know were there. To help heal you. To make a home with you.”

All he’d been able to think last night, when trying to write, was how much different things would have even if he and Sam would have known all of this when they were growing up. They’d had friends, but they’d also moved around somewhat and it was hard to really establish true friendships with anybody. And then there was Dad, never forming deep relationships, and both he and Sam soaking that in without knowing it…

It really wasn’t until he’d moved two and a half hours away from John that he’d met Charlie and Benny and started learning to open up to people. The same for Sam—except he’d moved out a lot sooner, and he’d gone _much_ farther away.

Dean cleared his throat. “And—and I wish that my dad had been able to realize that.” The corners of his eyes stung. “He—he held on behind that wall for so long that he didn’t see the world beyond it, and—” Shit. Dean swiped the heel of his hand against the escaping tear and steeled himself against the lump in his throat. He was almost done. “And I just—wanted to say that if there’s anything to be learned from this, it’s that it’s never too late to change, to open up…” He lifted his gaze again and locked onto Cas’s eyes meaningfully. “…Or to come home again.” Sam’s, face pale and wet with tears but smiling shakily, returning the support Dean had lent him earlier.

He turned to the portrait of his father. _Damn you. I love you. But damn you. I’m so sorry._ “It’s never—never too late.” To the mourners. “Thank you.”

-

Dean’s stinging eyes were watering as he made his way back to his seat. Sam was crying softly, head down, Jessica’s arm around him and her head leaning against his shoulder. Cas let Dean into the row again, and Dean sank back into his spot on the pew.

He slung an arm around Sam’s shoulder, just below Jessica’s, and squeezed his brother in a sideways hug for a moment as a hymn played. He patted Sam on the back, rubbing briefly before pulling back. Then he took in a long, slow, shaky breath. Eyes still stinging. Cas’s arm around him. Gaze locked on the portrait of John at the front of the funeral home. Folded and unfolded the pages of his speech.

_…my dad started keeping people at a distance…._

_Dad told us a couple times that you can only count on family…_

_He was wrong._

_“It’s never too late to change, to open up… Or to come home again.”_

The pages fluttered to the carpet as Dean raised his hands to his face and started to cry, unashamed.


	37. Lift Me Back Up To The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: accidental poisoning cw, partial suicide ideation, major discussion of thoughts of depression and self-destructive thoughts, vomit cw, victim blame cw, discussion of the abuser and minor flashbacks
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Gravity" by A Perfect Circle.  
> Lyrics in this chapter come from "[Beautiful Times](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfA-tPKPoNs)" by Owl City. I could not get this song out of my head for so long during and after the time I wrote this chapter (and while editing).

_A slow-motion wave on the ocean stirs_

_My emotion up like a rain cloud_

Cas shifted the basket of laundry under one arm and unlocked the apartment door. He dropped the basket on one of the chairs in the dining room and sighed, heading back to flip the deadbolt again before turning the TV on to break the silence. Some rerun of _Scrubs_ was on.

God, tonight was…

What, exactly? That was part of the problem to _begin_ with, he realized with a yawn. He wasn’t especially triggered tonight. Just down. Not to mention, he’d had a headache all day that wasn’t going away, despite the Tylenol or nap he’d taken.

Cas sat heavily at the dining room table and began to fold.

He’d had a bad nightmare the previous night and woken up somewhat shaken, wishing Dean was sleeping there next to him. But he was out in Lawrence going through stuff at his father’s with Sam this weekend, and Cas wasn’t about to bother him for such a childish reason.

The nightmare, though. Cas had gone to see Gabriel and things were mixed up, history mashed in a blender and all wrong. Gabriel had turned him away, saying he didn’t want anything to do with Cas, holding a younger Katie on his hip, slamming the door in his face. And Cas had come home upset, where Dean had been Dean, but not quite the same. He’d listened but then callously left him without so much as a goodbye.

He'd woken up, actually gasped himself awake, and worst of all, when he fell asleep, the nightmare resumed, flavored differently but essentially the same tone: _no. we don't want you. you don't belong. go away._

Cas had lied there in the dim light, swallowing hard, forcing himself to stay in bed. Hands clenched into fists, but he was careful to keep from digging his nails into the flesh of his palms.

And the conversations with himself had started, part of him thinking _It’s true, though… Why would your father and Gabriel and Balthazar really want you? Balthazar hasn’t even come to see you yet._ And Cas shaking his head, fighting hard against the old familiar self-hatred, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes, reminding himself that Balthazar didn't have the money but had continued to write and call, thinking how happy Gabriel and the kids had been that day, how much the kids liked seeing him, how Gabriel said Chuck wanted to meet him again. No, they did want him. They did love him.

 _Or maybe they’re just amazing actors,_ his brain mocked. _Either that or they don’t know what a worthless piece of shit you really are. Give it time, they’ll remember and regret it all._

It had taken him so long to fall asleep that finally he’d given up and gone looking for an antihistamine, hoping it would knock him out.

His mood wasn’t any better when he’d gotten up this morning. And it was easy enough to hand wave it away as just the influence of the nightmare, but in truth, it had touched a nerve.

And it wasn’t only Gabriel, Balthazar, and his father. He frequently wondered why Donna and Meg still bothered after all these years. He wasn’t an over the top, _actively_ terrible person like those who—well, like his former stepfather. Or arsonists. Criminals.

But he wasn’t a standout person, he mused, folding a washcloth. He was undeniably broken, would probably be on medication and going to therapy the rest of his life, and sometimes he wondered why even Dean put up with him. He was nothing. A burden.

 _Stop being so self-pitying,_ Cas ordered himself. He felt absolutely disgusted, hearing his mother’s voice in the back of his head from years ago: _“There you go again, Castiel. Drowning in self-pity. Always drowning in self-pity. Poor little pity me, feel sorry for me nonsense.”_ God, how many times had he heard _that_ in high school and before he’d moved out?

It would help if he could talk to someone, he mused, yawning with his eyes clenched tight. When he opened them, his vision blurred briefly. But he couldn’t really contact anybody for a myriad of reasons for one reason or another. Or he’d already tried. Meg’s phone was off temporarily again, and he’d already briefly texted Donna. He’d tried to call Gabriel twice earlier; once in the afternoon and once about an hour ago, right before going to switch the clothes over.

He folded a towel and set it aside, then picked up his phone and thumbed through his contacts. Hmm… Maybe Charlie. He sent off a quick how-are-you message before setting the phone and returning to the laundry, listening absently to the TV as he worked. He couldn’t see it from this angle unless he leaned back, but that was fine. It was more about driving the silence away than anything else.

He neatly stacked all the folded laundry in the empty basket and picked up his phone, figuring he’d try to call Charlie directly. But it rang and rang as he carried the clean clothes to his and Dean’s bedroom.

“C’mon, hon, pick up…” he muttered, setting the basket on their bed. He started putting away Dean’s socks and underwear, and then his own. Finally Charlie’s voicemail picked up.

Cas hung up without leaving a message. He didn’t really have anything to say, and sometimes he felt awkward leaving voicemails. Before he flipped the phone shut he noticed it was getting low on battery and frowned. When was the last time he’d seen the charger?

Didn’t much matter. There wasn’t much else to do to night; not really anyone else to try and call. He could always find it tomorrow after he slept this headache away.

He paused after putting away his and Dean’s individual pants and jeans in the dresser drawers, thinking. Maybe just this once, he could call Balthazar and deal with the phone bill later? It would be nice to hear his oldest brother’s voice and his warmth-suffused sense of humor.

A quick glance at his watch changed Cas’s mind. It was nearly three o’clock here. No, wait, what? He was reading that wrong. Nine. It was almost nine. So that made it—what was the time difference again? Five or six hours? That’d make it something like 2 or 3 in the morning in England. Too late, even if he did have international calling.

His head swam suddenly as he turned to retrieve the stack of remaining clothes. _Whoa_. What was _that_? He steadied himself against Dean’s nightstand and breathed deeply for a moment.

In the living room, some commercial blared, forgotten.

Cas raised a hand to his forehead, trying to focus. Maybe it—wait. Yes. He didn’t think he’d eaten lunch today, had he? That was probably it. Seemed odd; it shouldn’t be that simple. One meal shouldn’t affect him, but then again, he _was_ on medication. He’d have to ask Dr. Mills next time he saw her.

He’d been feeling slightly off all day, though. Weak and flu-like. This morning he’d almost thrown up after breakfast. He’d thought that the eggs he’d cooked had gone bad or something.

But maybe he _was_ sick.

His phone beeped just as he picked up the stack of clothes. Cas blinked blearily down at them and decided to finish later, setting the clothes on top of the dresser before pulling his phone back out.

It was a wrong number. Figured.

Cas turned the heat up on the space heater. It was going to get colder that night, the weather had warned. He made his way to the kitchen and forced down a couple of crackers, just enough to take his evening meds and a couple ibuprofen.

Back in the bedroom, Cas shot off a quick good night text to Dean. Changed into his navy sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. Turned the overhead light off. The bedside lamp stayed on, as always, as he slipped into bed.

He missed Dean’s warmth next to him, Dean’s arms around him after a nightmare. Or Dean’s beautifully awkward face in the morning when he was still sleeping—mouth open, drooling, as far from attractive as he could get. And Dean’s hands on his sides, his back as they kissed, his fingers in Cas’s hair, Dean lying under him, looking up at Cas with awe and adoration…

 _God knows why he’s even bothering with you_. That voice in his head piped up again, slow now, languid and sleepy, but no less caustic or cruel. _Pity, probably. He should be with someone who deserves him._

Cas groaned and rolled over, face in the pillow, trying to hide from his own thoughts and feeling nauseated again. God, he could practically hear his mother from when he’d been younger. _There you go again, Castiel. Drowning in self-pity…_ It was making him sick. He was making _himself_ sick.

 _You shouldn’t have gotten in touch with Gabriel and Balthazar to begin with_ , he thought hatefully. _You should just walk away now. It’d be better for everyone. Before Katie and Mikey and Leela get attached._

His head ached, a dull, solid, reliable pain that had not relented in the least all day.

Dimly, Cas realized he was sulking. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the nightmare. Whatever. It had touched on a lot of unspoken, suppressed fears he’d been afraid to face head-on. He _did_ struggle with feeling worthwhile, with feeling wanted. Things he stuffed so far down they started souring, like a bag in a trash can nobody was bothering to change.

Of course he knew his self-esteem was demolished from the abuse and his part in it. And he’d talked about it plenty of times with Missouri. He hadn’t, however, addressed _all_ of it.

Because sometimes… it honestly didn’t seem worth the fight. He’d been struggling with all of this for so long, chipping away at the wall that kept him from everyone else, and even when he fought as hard as he could, sometimes it was like all of his effort amounted to nothing more than the equivalent of a spoonful-sized chunk dug out of the Great Wall of China.

It was simply too big. It might not even be possible.

Cas’s stomach rolled and he turned onto his side, snatching for the wastebasket, fumbling it into place. Stomach nearly… No, settling maybe… Cas rubbed his other palm gingerly over his belly, whimpering pathetically. God. If only one or the other would go away… If he didn’t have the nausea, or if he didn’t have the damn headache…

He shivered and slid back under the covers.

_When did the sky turn black?_

_And when will the light come back?_

—

Up. Up, lurching, side of the bed, vomiting, sick, what—, sudden consciousness—

Cas only realized then that he’d actually fallen asleep and was awake. He groaned in the stale, stuffy air and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth in confused disgust, heavy-lidded and head in agony before shoving himself onto his back again.

_Why am I so sick?_

He wanted to die.

 _Maybe you are,_ that irritating voice jeered. _Wouldn’t that be a good thing? For everyone?_ Cas flailed a hand up by his temple, muddy and confused, trying to bat it away as if there was actually somebody there, speaking.

This was ridiculous. He had the flu. He wasn’t going to die of the _flu._

Cas slotted his eyes open with great lethargy and gazed over at the wall where framed photos hung.

Katie and Mikey and Leela, Mikey looking at the camera this time. Cas had gotten it made into an 8x10 and it hung next to the one from the first day he’d gotten in touch with Gabriel.

Cas and Gabriel, Cas shyly smiling, Gabriel grinning widely. It was in a double-photo frame with a photo Gabriel had given him of Balthazar and Gabriel, taken when he’d gone to England two years earlier.

A group shot of Cas, Donna, and Meg. As always, Donna smiling the biggest, the trio’s resident ray of sunshine bringing them all into a brighter mood.

Dean and Cas together, a photo Benny had taken without them knowing. They were beaming at each other, completely oblivious to the world around them, faces shining with glee about… hell, Cas couldn’t remember now. He remembered Dean shoving his face aside jokingly afterward, neither of them having even heard the low shutter sound effect of Benny’s camera phone going off at the time.

Another double-photo frame: Charlie and Dean hugging goodbye one day, Dean kissing her hair. And one of her grinning, hand on her hip, proud of something she’d helped figure out that neither Dean nor Cas could make heads or tails of.

An older picture of Dean and Sam when they were younger that Cas had stumbled over and gotten made into a 5x7.

Dean and Benny laughing over an inside joke—something Benny had said at the time about how they’d met at a gay bar called Purgatory when Dean had been in Miami. Dean had looked so happy—both of them had—that Cas had grabbed for his camera and desperately hoped he’d get the picture in time. (He had.)

Two very recently printed 8x10s: Sam with Dean the morning they’d left to find John, and Sam with Jess a couple of days after the funeral, before she’d had to fly back to Stanford. Cas hadn’t found frames for them yet. Right now, they were held to the wall with tape on their backs.

Cas smiled slowly. Sure, it looked a bit crowded now, but there were so many good ones…

His heart felt strange. A little fast. Shouldn’t it be slower? He wasn’t doing anything.

 _Whatever’s happening… just… let it happen,_ that self-destructive urge went on.

Cas was being _beyond_ ridiculous. If he’d had the energy, he would have rolled his eyes. He was on three different medications—obviously some side effect was choosing a weird time to kick in. He should be surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

He moved on from the photos and slowly scanned the room. That photo of Dean and his mother, always kept on his side table, the stack of laundry still on the dresser, a box of books Cas had managed to weed out from his collection, a box of stuff Gabriel had given Cas from when he was younger that Cas hadn’t felt stable enough to open yet, the space heater, Dean’s gray robe hanging on the top corner of the open closet door.

 _That box of stuff from your brother… He doesn’t want you around, you know that, right? You’re screwing things up and he feels bad, so he has to make an effort._ Cas whimpered and shook his head, but it only made the pain worse.

Groaning, he glanced back toward the dresser, wondering if he’d left any Tylenol there or something.

But. Wait—

Cas blinked so deliberate and slowly that it was really closing his eyes for a moment. Could it—

The space heater.

It was warm in here. Finally warm. But—Cas struggled groggily to think. Wasn’t—hadn’t there been something in the warnings and directions about the heater? A time limit?

He’d had it on all day. He hadn’t been in the _apartment_ all day, but—

What was it, the warning? About—you weren’t supposed to have it on past a certain time. It—Cas couldn’t remember how, but there was a danger symbol in the instructions. Gas built up. If the thing was wonky and malfunctioned, gas could build up.

Dull aching in his head. Eyelids heavy.

Carbon dioxide. No, _monoxide_.

Now he was thinking of it, he realized his breathing was off, too. Faster than normal, just that little bit.

_It would be so easy, Castiel. You wouldn’t have to do a thing. Just go to sleep._

His eyes glazed over. It would. It _would_ be easy. His phone was almost dead. He wasn’t even sure where he’d left it.

He was almost dead. He wasn't even sure where he'd left himself.

Waves of unconsciousness teased at him, blurring edges, breaking down partitions in his mind he’d put up to shove away the worst memories.

Dizziness.

_“…we’ve decided not to proceed due to insufficient evidence…”_

He was nothing. He wouldn’t be missed. Was it really so bad?

They’d all—they’d be sad, but—for the best…

But more memories, good ones blending over the bad, confusing him.

_Katie’s grin, gap-toothed, laughing at Cas’s butchered attempt at a joke more than the joke itself._

_Mikey, impulsively wrapping his arms around Cas’s legs that day they’d gotten back in touch, a hug in thanks for Cas helping him._

_Lunch with his mother, both of them agreeing about a local news article and able to get along better now that he’d moved out. Friendly, finally._

_The TV screen illuminating Dean’s face, his expression full of open laughter, white flash of his teeth as his head tilted back, the corners of his eyes crinkling._

His head hurt _so_ , so much. Would it be so bad to fall asleep?

_Hester, a family friend, taking Cas for a trip to the bookstore and the movies one day when he’d been living in isolation at Nana's and Pop-Pop's for so long._

_“Do you mind if I ask you something?”_

_“No, why?”_

_“Um… did… Did M—Did he… hurt you?”_

_Stiffness in the lift of Cas’s head, the park in front of them vanishing from view. “Um… no.”_

_Hester’s head down, blonde hair hanging. Hesitant but inquisitive. Unable to look at him. “Did he… did he… threaten you?”_

_Shame, rising exponentially, slamming into and through and around him, sludge in his veins, he couldn’t move—“No.”_

_A pause._

_“I don’t—under—understand. What kind of child…”_

His chest hurt. Real. Physical.

Cas went from supine to sideways so fast there was almost no movement. One second, he was lying there, and the other, the nausea was hurling him over the side of the bed and he was vomiting, desperately trying to aim for the wastebasket halfway through but not succeeding very well.

“No,” he gasped, clinging to Dean’s nightstand with one hand to keep from falling out of the bed.

_Voices in the dark of the house, Mom asleep in her room—_

And the flip side, Dean, years later—God, Dean…

_“Look, Cas. I don’t care what you said… It was on him to say no. It was on him to be the adult, okay? Kids' and adults' brains are different. Nothin’ on you, you hear me? Nothing. Not even if you said yes. I don’t give a damn. Kids don’t know what they’re doing half the time.”_

Where was his phone? Cas strained to remember, struggling for breath. He managed to shove back to a stable position. Headache, persistent as always.

The windowsill. Or the dresser? He’d had it near there when he’d been trying to call Charlie.

He was so tired, so confused, so tired…

 _Just give up._ The voice again.

_The nightmares. Always the nightmares._

_The futility of speaking up—after everything, after all his worries and reasons for silence, he’d never in a million years have thought that he’d finally speak up and nothing would happen._

Pain, his head, always pain. He rolled to his back and groaned. Nausea. The room spun.

_Mikey and Katie and Leela… Gabriel, Balthazar… his father, waiting to hear from him…_

_Charlie’s grin, so infectious, leaving him with no choice but to copy her even before he realized he was doing it most of the time, his mood automatically boosted merely by her presence._

_Donna and Meg out of the picture for so long, both driven away by Metatron and Cas’s depression and apathy, yet returning with zero strings and continuing to love him unconditionally._

_Cas’s own, younger voice, reassuring Metatron. “I know… it’s okay, I can’t say anything… Don’t worry, I promise I won’t tell anyone…”_

_Metatron sitting casually on the couch, watching TV, waiting for Cas to come out and join him. Soft talk, gentle, something Cas thought they were bonding over at the time, but really getting Cas relaxed and calm. Enticing him before… before…_

_Later, years later, with a much different mood, a poisonous mood. Cas had stopped giving in or even speaking to him. Metatron constantly baiting Cas into snapping, knowing exactly what he was doing every time. Saying just the wrong things to cause Cas to fly into rages or slam into his room and lock the door, making him look like a “problem kid” and not like someone who was reacting to being set up and set off. And then Cas would have to stay in his room for hours, because he knew damn well that at night, Metatron would stay in the living room to watch TV just to taunt him. Like a reprehensible sentinel._

_Not every night, of course. Just enough to keep Cas off guard. Just enough to reinforce that Cas was no longer safe in his own house._

Cas’s chest hurt again. He shut his eyes. He’d sleep, if only—if only there wasn’t some effing bump under his hip bothering him… He shifted, reaching to get—what was—whatever the lump under his thigh—get it out of the way, it was probably a lump of sheets or something, it…

His heart beat faster.

He remembered holding Dean that day after the incident at Kobe Steakhouse on the couch, stroking his face, his hair. Lips to the bolt of his jaw. Whispering to him, “ _You are enough, Dean Winchester._ ”

Cas maneuvered the object out from under him, moving it and the fabric it was in. His fingers made the connection a second before his brain did.

_His phone._

He’d transferred it to his sweatpants without realizing.

_“You are enough, Dean Winchester.”_

Cas fumbled a couple sloppy fingers into the pocket, breathing fast. Disoriented. But determined.

“ _You are enough…_ ”

The sweatpants had been twisted as he tossed and moved, but there was still a small enough area of the pocket’s opening for the phone to pop free.

He flipped it open and began to dial.

 _And_ I _am enough too._ I _am enough too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the subject of "Beautiful Times," I also recommend the interpretations I've read on [genius.com](https://genius.com/Owl-city-beautiful-times-lyrics). It's such a complex, beautiful, amazing song. <3


	38. A Long Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: hospitals, brief mention of possible suicidal thoughts

Dean's sleep the night before had been restless for some reason. He couldn't stop waking up, and his dreams felt… off, sort of unsettling, but at the same time, foggy and undefined— he couldn't pinpoint exactly why they disturbed him once the morning finally came. Only the feelings of uneasiness remained.

He'd spent the day aggravated and snippy as a result, and poor Sam had gotten the bad end of it with Dean snapping a couple of times before he caught himself and apologized. Ever the tolerant one, though, Sam simply brushed it aside. “It's all right,” he'd said. “I know you didn't sleep well.” Which of course only made Dean feel worse about the whole thing.

Now it was about ten-thirty, and Dean was sorting through things in their father's closet, debating which to keep or donate. A third section was for things he couldn't decide on. God, he wasn't really in the right state of mind to do all this. But it had to be done, eventually, so he might as well get it over with.

Dean rested his head in his palms mid-sort, all of a sudden feeling a wave of weariness hit him. He was so tired. Should he just bag it and switch jobs with Sam? Maybe going through paperwork would be easier.

A chime interrupted his thoughts.

He lifted his head and looked around, quickly locating his phone on the dresser near the door. The number was in Wichita, it looked like, but not a number he recognized. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Dean Winchester?” It was some woman.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. “Who is this?”

“This is Dr. Sarah Blake at Via Christi. A short while ago Castiel Novak was brought in, and you're one of his contact information numbers.”

Dean almost dropped the phone. “Oh my god. What— what hap— what happened?” His throat was dry. His mouth was dry. He coughed, he swallowed, he tried again, he spoke again. “Is— is he okay?” There were way too many piles of clothes in this room he had to get out of here fuck _fuck_ —

“I can't tell you anything until you're here in person,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

“Okay. Okay, uh, thanks, uh, yeah. Thanks,” he said without thinking, wondering why on earth he was _thanking_ her for the terrifying news. Fuck. Fuck, he at least wish he could have known what happened. He hit the End Call button and dropped the phone onto a random pile. Stumbled to his feet. “Shit,” he muttered, hands gripping his hair. “Shit— _dammit!_ ”

“Dean? What's wrong?” Sam had heard some of this and was standing in the doorway looking in, eyes wide. “Dean?”

He forced himself to breathe, to swallow, to keep his heart breathing. _Beating_. Lifted his gaze to meet his brother's eyes. “It's Cas. Something happened.”

-

The drive back to Wichita felt very familiar, albeit in a slightly different shade, to how it had been when they were looking for their father. Then, they had suspected that something bad could have happened, but didn't know where to find him. And as slim as the possibility had been (and with it shrinking ever faster the longer it took them to look), there still _was_ that possibility that they would find him with nothing wrong.

Now?

Now, they knew Cas wasn't okay. But exactly how, and to what degree? They didn't know.

Knowing with certainty that something bad had happened didn't make this drive any easier than the first.

It occurred to him almost halfway there that he could have tried to call Gabriel, or Cas's father. See what they knew. But of course he hadn't remembered to grab his phone from John's room on the rush from the small apartment, and he couldn't remember Gabriel's number.

 _Goddamn, why did I have to move two-and-a-half hours away?_ Dean cursed himself as he drove a little faster. If he lived closer to Lawrence, he could be there faster—

But then, if he lived anywhere but Wichita, in all likelihood he never would have met Cas in the first place, either. So fuck it. He'd trade off the journey time (shorter if he pushed the speed limit…) if it meant having Cas in his life at all.

Sam cleared his throat. “He's, uh, he's going to be okay, Dean,” he said, glancing over.

“Don't— You— You don't know that.” Dean's chest was too tight to contemplate any of the realities and actual, tangible possibilities of the situation. “Don't do that.”

“I have a feeling.”

Dean's hands locked on the wheel, the tension in his knuckles a match for the strain in his tightening jaw. “Doesn't help us in the real world here.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, but then shrugged and didn't say anything else.

The remaining hour of the trip was spent in an uncertain, anxious silence.

-

They were sort of in luck when they got to the hospital, as far as information went. They'd no sooner pulled into the ER parking lot when they spotted Gabriel waiting outside the entrance.

“Oh, fuck, man, it's about time,” he said as they walked up. “We've been waiting. Why didn't you answer?”

“Forgot my phone at Dad's.” Dean ran a palm over his mouth. “Uh, who's all— What happened? Who's all here?”

Gabriel swallowed a couple times, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Carbon monoxide poisoning. The space heater. He breathed in a lot before he— before he called 911. We're not sure what happened past that.” At their questioning frowns, he added, “Just Cas's mom is here. Kali's home with the kids— Katie wanted to come, but we told her no, so she's awake waiting to hear.”

It was the most nervous-babbly Dean had ever seen the poor guy. Gabriel let out a near-hysterical laugh-snort. “Naomi, she's uh, you can tell she's just as nervous about being in a hospital as she is about Cas. She doesn't like doctors. Never has.”

“Breathe, dude. Just…” Sam made vague _inhale-exhale_ motions near his shoulders. “You'll be okay.”

“Not worried about me, giant.” Gabriel jerked his thumb back toward the hospital behind them. “C'mon. Let's, uh— let's go in.”

Dean nodded, and they all entered the building.

-

They were quiet in the small waiting area at the end of a hall. Naomi sat in one section with Sam a couple chairs away, and right away Dean could tell what Gabriel meant by her being nervous. She was holding her purse in her lap and every now and then would go through it, rigorously organizing and re-organizing its contents for lack of anything else to do, it seemed.

Gabriel and Dean had taken seats against the wall diagonal to theirs. There were two Hispanic men there as well in the same area, but a doctor called them to a room a short while after Sam and Dean had arrived. Now, they were just waiting to hear about Cas.

Dean settled back in his chair, trying to keep his mind off a worry that kept stinging at the back of his mind.

Gabriel had said he'd called Balthazar to let him know what had happened, and he was regularly texting him updates as they sat there. Dean figured he was probably also letting his and Cas's father know what was happening too. If a similar situation were happening with Sam right now, he knew _he'd_ probably have let John know.

Gabriel also said that when the ambulance came to get Cas, the paramedics had let their neighbors in their specific apartment complex know, and they'd all be staying offsite for a day or two while the building aired out. Dean felt sort of bad about that, but it couldn't be helped, and really, rather be safe. And after all, how could he and Cas have known the space heater was faulty anyway?

At least it had happened after they'd moved to Cas's. Less people per building. Dean's old apartment was all one big building.

Dean sat up suddenly. “Hey, uh, we should— should let Donna and Meg know,” he said. _And Charlie_ , he realized too.

“Oh, good idea,” Gabriel said. “You have their numbers?”

He shook his head. “Only, uh, Donna's, but she'll let Meg know.” He reached into his right jean pocket and was frowning, fingertips jabbing at the seams before the image flashed into his mind: his phone, lying on some random pile of clothes in his father's apartment. Over 150 miles away. _Dammit_ , Dean thought once again, for the countless time wishing he'd remembered to grab it. “Hey, someone lemme borrow their phone.” Luckily, he vaguely remembered Donna's number anyway— as he'd been programming it in, he'd frowned and realized that the last three digits nearly mirrored the first three digits in Cas's number. The strange, small coincidence must have stuck in his mind. Good thing.

Gabriel wordlessly handed his over.

Dean paced a few feet away as he began to dial.

It rang a few times, and then Donna picked up, her voice clogged with sleep and confusion. “Hello?”

“Uh, Donna? It's Dean.”

“Yeah?” She'd caught the stress in his voice. “What's— Are you okay?”

“It's Cas,” Dean said. “I'm borrowing Gabriel's phone. We're at the hospital. He's—” His voice broke.

“Oh, no. What happened?” She was quavery, scared.

Dean leaned against a wall. “He was at home and there was— The heater, carbon monoxide poisoning. They brought him into the ER, but we don't know much yet for now. We're just waiting— me and Gabriel and his mom are here. And Sam.”

“I'm coming there,” she said. “What hospital are you at?”

“No, there's— They, I don't know if they'll let us have too many people here,” Dean said. “We're at Via Christi though.”

Donna sighed. “God, I wanna be there, though.”

“I know,” Dean nodded, staring down at the tiled floor, tracing the pattern along the hallway with his gaze absently. “I'll keep you updated, though. Maybe when we find out more later on, you can come by.”

“That'd be good.”

“Yeah.” Dean remembered his other reason for calling. “And, hey, if you could let Meg know, too? I don't have her number and wanted to tell her, so…”

Donna _mmm-hmmm_ ed. “Yeah. Yeah, I'll call her. Thanks, Dean.”

“Thanks. Okay, well, I'm gonna go now, so… I'll text you later as I hear, okay?”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Donna.” He ended the call and flipped Gabriel's phone shut, returning to the waiting area slowly. Everybody was in much the same position as he'd left them. No change; nobody had come by with updates.

Dean handed Gabriel his phone and took his seat again. Anxiously he settled in to wait.

As he sat there, something kept nagging at him, and after a while it was too much and he spoke up. “Cas— He's, uh…”

All eyes turned to Dean. When he realized his place in the spotlight, he shook his head. “Never mind. It's— it's nothing.”

Gabriel reached over and clapped him on the back. “Gonna be just fine is what he is, huh?” He nodded, but Dean didn't miss the anxiety in his brown eyes. “Kid's a fighter. He'll be making fun of all of us for being worried, just you watch.” Gabriel made a face, pausing. “I mean, he's not that funny, but he'll be trying.”

Dean found himself smiling despite himself and despite the damn tears filling his eyes all over again. “Yeah. He'll— he'll never let us hear the end of this.” He brushed the tears away with his sleeve. Damn, he was starting to like this guy.

“Cas is strong,” Sam said, tapping his fingertips along the edge of his chair. “He'll pull through.”

Everyone more or less nodded in agreement.

What else could they really do but wait?

-

Dean wasn't sure how long it was until a doctor came to see them, but it felt like hours. It could have been. Maybe it was less than.

Finally, though, a woman with dark hair walked up to them. “Family for Castiel Novak?” When she approached closely enough, Dean could see that this was Dr. Blake.

They all stood up and gathered in a group.

She raised an eyebrow. “All of you? Okay. We're administering hyperbaric oxygen therapy right now. We'll still need to do more tests on him after that. It'll probably be another couple of hours.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Dean asked, unable to keep the words in.

Dr. Blake looked at him carefully, smiling reassuringly. “We're taking care of him as best we can, sir.” She didn't confirm or deny anything. “He looks stable for now, so we're going to try and keep him that way.”

 _Thank God_ , Dean thought. Behind him, he could hear Gabriel let out a breath, and then the sound of his phone's keyboard again. It reminded him; he needed to let Donna know too when Gabriel was done.

“Thank you,” said Sam, reaching to shake her hand. “We appreciate it.”

“Thanks for letting us know,” Naomi added, nodding.

“No problem.” Dr. Blake offered another one of those little hopeful smiles. “I'm praying for him. I can tell he's very loved.”

 _Yeah, I just hope he knows that_ , Dean thought. “Yeah, he is.” He swallowed. His throat was dry.

-

Hours later, they were still waiting. Sam had fallen into an uneasy light doze, hair in his face and looking uncomfortable in the cramped hospital waiting room chair. When Naomi succumbed as well, eyelids finally not lifting after they'd been fighting to stay up for the last minute or so, Gabriel turned to Dean. “Hey,” he said quietly. “What, uh, what were you gonna say earlier?”

Dean looked up at one of the random posters on the wall and braided his fingertips together. “I 'unno.” But he did.

“Mmm.”

“Okay, it's dumb, it's just…” Dean untwisted his hands and briefly dropped his head into his palms. It didn't matter at this point— the bigger issue was how Cas was _now_ , if he'd be okay, right? “I'm— I'm afraid it wasn't an accident.”

It took him a minute or two to look back at Gabriel, whose face was unreadable. “You think he… On purpose?”

Dean shook his head. “I don't know. That's the thing. I don't even have a strong feeling. I feel like he _might_ have. But there's about a thousand different easier ways to…” He sighed. “See, none of this makes sense, I don't even know why I thought of it.”

It was too quiet. Too late. What the hell time was it? He looked at his watch. About four AM. He wondered briefly why he hadn't fallen asleep as well. He wondered how the others had managed to. He wondered about the effects of shock and anxiety. He wondered if he was going losing his grip here.

“Did he ever talk about…” Gabriel whispered.

“Nn-nnn.” Dean said. “So if this is something I'm coming up with on my own, I'm gonna feel like shit if I ask him, y'know?”

Gabriel nodded.

Silence descended again.

Dean got up and started to pace a little. Almost down to the first room, then back. Light steps, careful not to cross in front of either Sam or Naomi and risk waking them up. Hands in his pockets. God, how much damn longer could it be? How many tests did they have to take? How long did that hyper- whatever oxygen therapy take?

He eventually heard someone walk up to him as he was pacing away from the waiting area. Turned. It was Sam. “Dean, sit down, you're wearing a hole in the floor.”

“Yeah.” He followed his brother just for lack of anything else to do and took a seat.

Not much longer after that, Dr. Blake returned. “He's awake,” she said.

Dean let out his breath so sharp and suddenly that he honestly thought he would have collapsed if he'd been standing up. “Thank God. Can— Can we see him?”

“In a little while,” Dr. Blake said. “I'll let you know when you can go in, okay? I wanted to let you know for now.” Her smile was warmer now, genuine. “He has some work to do after this, but we think he's going to be okay.”

“Thank you,” Naomi said. “Thank you so much.”

Dr. Blake nodded as everyone else joined in on the thanking.

“What do you mean by work?” asked Gabriel.

“Well, we want to know if delayed symptoms or neurological complications occur,” said Dr. Blake. “And not to scare you, but in some cases of carbon monoxide poisoning, the heart can be affected and increase risk of mortality in future years.” The bottom fell out of Dean's stomach all over again. “So we recommend having more tests and follow-ups to keep an eye on things. See where we're at.”

God. He wasn't even out of the woods. Not really.

“I wouldn't put it like that,” Dr. Blake said, and Dean only then realized he'd vocalized the thought. “He's talking now, alert— he's tired though— and things look very well for now. It's a precaution. But we do want to be prepared in case anything does happen in the future.”

“Okay,” Gabriel murmured, pulling his phone out to text Balthazar and their father. “Um, when can we see him?”

Dr. Blake looked down at her watch. “Give it about twenty more minutes, okay? But we can only bring a couple people in at a time.”

“That's good,” Dean said. “That's— okay, yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”

-

When the doctor returned, Gabriel and Naomi were the first to head off down the hall. Dean watched them go, wiggling his foot impatiently, wishing they didn't have that two-visitor limit.

“It's okay,” Sam said. “Relax, Dean. He's gonna be fine.”

“Basically,” Dean muttered, still fidgeting.

He wondered if Cas's father should have been here— if Gabriel or someone should have called him. But with Cas not having been in contact with him at all for the past ten years… It was, ultimately, Cas's decision. But at the same time, it was a shame that the guy didn't get to be here. Balthazar too, but with the distance instead of the situation.

At least Gabriel had been keeping them both updated.

And speaking of updates, before he'd left he'd handed Dean his phone so that Donna could continue to hear what was going on. Dean sent the latest to Donna; she responded right away, thanking him profusely, and he ordered her to get some sleep now that they knew Cas would be okay.

Dean lifted his head and glanced absently at the magazines on the corner table without registering any of the titles or articles splashed over their covers. He scratched his jaw.

Something randomly occurred to Dean as he put Gabriel's phone down, and he looked at his brother. “Hey, Sam. In the car— uh, how come you were so sure Cas would be okay? Were you guessing, or hoping really hard, or… like…” Dean made a semi-joking face. “What, was it a whole… 'I have faith in God' kinda thing?”

Sam looked over and shook his head. “No. Not faith in God, I don't think,” he said. He paused and reconsidered. “Or at least, not _only_ in God. But I definitely had faith in Cas.”

Well, damn.

Dean bit his smile as he turned to see if the others were returning yet. “I _knew_ you guys would get along,” he murmured. “Should've introduced you sooner.”

A few minutes after that, Gabriel and Naomi returned. “He seems to be— to be doing well,” Naomi said, a little shakily. “I'm glad.” She hefted her purse a bit higher on her shoulder and looked around uncertainly.

Dean and Sam both stood up and Dean handed the phone back.

“It was, um, great we got to see him,” said Gabriel, dropping it into his pocket. “I'm gonna have to get going, unfortunately. Work tomorrow… well, today.” He bit his lip.

“Will you be okay with no sleep?” Naomi asked.

Gabriel smiled. “I'll be fine. Thanks.” They hugged briefly. “Dean, good to see you again.” He hugged Dean as well, and shook Sam's hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” Turned to Dean again. “He's good. Really.”

Those were definitely _not_ tears about to spring to Dean's eyes again. His eyes just hurt from lack of sleep, was all. “Thanks,” he said. “See you later.”

After Gabriel left, Naomi said she also had to leave. She asked Dean to keep her updated if anything else happened, and said she'd be back in the later morning.

Then it was just Sam and Dean in the empty waiting room, and the barest traces of dawn threatening to peer over the horizon outside the window, faint traces of lightness against the horizon as if a window shade hadn't been pulled down all the way.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Yep.”


	39. Beautiful Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: hospitals, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, discussion of depression and mental health healing
> 
> Title and lyrics in here are from "Beautiful Times" by Owl City.

Cas's eyes were closed when they walked in, and Dean thought initially that he was asleep. But then he opened them and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” There was one single chair next to the bed. Sam nodded toward it, and Dean took it, scooting it closer to Cas. He started to say something else, but couldn't, so he stopped.

Sam walked up by the chair. “How you feeling?”

“Been better,” Cas said. “I'm really tired. Which doesn't make a lot of sense, but…” He lifted his shoulders. “Ah well.”

Dean couldn't quite speak yet. He reached for one of Cas's hands and squeezed. Cas squeezed back and looked at him warmly. “Good to see you,” he said, glancing at both of them.

“You too,” Sam said. “Doctor said you'll have to have a few more tests and stuff, make sure you're, y'know, doing well after this.”

Cas _mm-hmme_ d. “Yeah. Shouldn't be a problem,” he murmured, linking his hand tighter with Dean's. “I'll do whatever I need to do.”

“That's good.” Dean felt the tears escape.

“Oh, don't cry, Dean, I'm okay,” Cas said kindly. “Really.”

Sam came to the rescue.

Sort of.

“He's fine, he's just emotional when he's tired,” he teased, lightly smacking his brother on the back. “You haven't seen him when he watches the shitty dramatic movies late at night, have you?”

Dean rolled his eyes but, frustratingly, couldn't keep from laughing.

“Sam, I think at this point, I know more embarrassing secrets about him than you do if we're going to play this game,” said Cas.

Oh, fuck.

“He's usually there with the chips and a beer too,” Cas added with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Doesn't make him look any tougher when he's crying along at the end of the movie.”

Dean covered his face with his free hand. “Damn you two… The fuck did I introduce you for?”

“I don't know, but we're glad you did,” Sam said while Cas laughed. “This ganging-up-on-you thing is fun as hell.” Dean heard the sound of a high-five.

They chatted for a while longer, and then Sam started to excuse himself. “I'm going to, uh, see what they have in the vending machines.” He gave them both an encouraging look. “It really was good seeing you, Cas. I'm glad you're okay.” Sam flashed the thumbs-up sign. “Stay around a while, huh? And Dean— I'll be in the waiting area, so stay as long as you want.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Cas nodded.

“Okay, thanks.” Dean smiled and lifted a hand in a small goodbye wave as Sam walked out.

-

_I fought all through the night_

_Oh, but I made it alive_

_The sun's starting to rise_

_Oh, these are beautiful times_

After Sam had excused himself, Cas and Dean were quiet. There was only the sound of various machines beeping, other people's low conversations outside the room, and the uncertain silence they’d fallen into.

Dean suddenly started chuckling. “Hey,” he said out of nowhere. “This is—this is—“

“What?” Cas said suspiciously, tiredly.

“You know this is basically where we met, right?”

Cas let his head fall back against the pillows and groaned. If he’d had the energy, he’d have rolled his eyes. As it is, though, they remained closed. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” he muttered. “I should’ve left your dorky ass in 'hell.'”

Dean poked at his arm with one finger. “You love me.”

“I do. God help me, I do.” Cas sighed and reached for his hand sightlessly.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice, suddenly bereft of laughter, caught Cas’s attention. He opened his eyes to see Dean watching him with a serious look on his face.

He frowned. “What?”

“Noth—nothing.” Dean cleared his throat. “Just—I’m glad you’re here, man. Really.” His green eyes shimmered. “I don’t—I don’t—” There they went. “Sh-shit, sorry.” He brushed his free palm over his cheeks quickly, almost as soon as the tears had fallen. “Not tryin’ to get all sappy here. But—god, Cas, I’m so fucking glad you’re alive, you know that?”

“I know.” Cas twined their fingers together tighter. “You know what? I am, too, actually. In— in fact, Dean, I—” He tried to sit up a bit. How to tell him? How to get into it all?

Dean saw him struggling and reached for the buttons on the side of the bed. “Hold— hang on, I got it.” The bed _whirred_ and _grrred_ as the top part lifted into an incline.

That was sort of a metaphor for the whole thing, Cas realized wryly. “ _I_ could have done that, Dean,” he murmured gently.

“It wasn't a problem, I'm— it's not like the buttons are on the other side of the bed,” Dean quipped. “You're not making any more work for me here.”

They sat quietly. Dean lowered his head, leaning forward with elbows on his thighs, taking several deep breaths. Cas wasn't sure if he was preparing himself for whatever Cas had to say, or using the time to keep processing what had almost happened tonight.

Cas could have just left it there. It wasn't… It wasn't as significant as an actual attempt. Sort of. And he didn't _need_ to say anything…

Did he?

More machines chirped in the absence of their voices. They could hear footsteps outside of the room and low voices talking, something about paperwork and someone's shift about to end.

It occurred to Cas that _he wanted_ to say this. If he really, truly wanted to change— he didn't want the freedom to run and hide in his depression, his PTSD, his self-abuse, without trying to reach out wherever he could. And maybe this was only a small step, but— it was still it a step.

And it was far past time for him to start making them. He needed to stop standing motionless, or going backwards.

God, it was terrifying, though. Even more terrifying than being in that bed and realizing he was about to die. The thought of opening up was like ripping open actual wounds. Even to Dean. Even to the person he was the very closest to on the planet.

But he had to _try_.

“Dean,” Cas started, his voice shaky at first but gaining momentum. Dean looked up, watching carefully. “When I was—was lying there, I realized… I want to be here. To live, I mean.” It was so hard to say the next few words, to open up that last bit completely and admit his last, darkest thoughts—but he pressed on. “Because… Because a part of me— a really big part— of me wanted to let it happen. Wanted— to die.” His heart thudded as he let the words out.

Dean's face was an interesting mix of emotions. Transfixed horror and alarm, deep sadness and regret, all overshadowed by concern and love. His complexion was drained of color, but he sat listening, free of judgment, and waiting patiently and with support. He shuffled his chair a little closer, wrapping his other hand around Cas’s along with his first.

“I… I don’t, I didn’t want to talk about it,” Cas went on, crossing one arm over his chest. “Even think about it. Not completely. Not to myself.” He sighed and looked at Dean sideways. “But when I was there, last night? Lying there? It would have been easy, Dean. It would have been _so_ easy.”

Dean swallowed with difficulty but remained silent.

Cas squeezed his hand. “I could have just gone right to sleep. And I almost did. I’d… The other night, I had a nightmare and it brought up a bunch of things I’d been trying to suppress. I k—I kept feeling worthless all day, a burden, unwanted, alone.”

“You’re _not_.” Dean’s voice was hoarse and broken. Raw. He let go of Cas's hand to scrub shakily, almost angrily, at the tears spilling over his cheeks again. “You’re _not_ , Cas, don’t ever say that, Christ. You’re important, don’t you know th—”

“Dean.” Cas pulled his tirade to a stop with that one gentle word. Dean’s anxious jade eyes locked onto his. “It’s—it’s not enough.”

He paused at the confused and slightly hurt expression on Dean's face. Fuck. He didn't— he didn't mean to…

Cas elaborated. “It’s not that it _doesn’t matter_ , it’s only that…” Cas sighed again. Why couldn’t he organize his thoughts? Why were the words so blended and mixed together? “Dean, it’s _me_. I can’t… It doesn’t matter what people say, or how many people care about me, or how much you love me—none of that can matter in the first place if I won’t let it in. If I have these blocks up against it all. Against being cared about or accepted.” He felt wetness lining his eyelids. “Against being loved. Just like I—like I am.”

Dean’s eyes nearly matched his own, green locked onto blue and both watery.

They sat in silence for several minutes, still linked by their hands and soft looks.

Finally, Dean spoke. “So—so what now? Wher—where do we go from here, Cas?”

Cas smiled with fierce affection. “I’m not leaving you, Dean. Don’t worry. I’m only asking you to be patient with me. While I work on myself. It might be rough going for a while. I’ll have some things to work through and unpack, and it won’t be fun. I'm not sure I'll be the easiest person in the world to be around for a little bit.” He took a deep breath. “But if I really want to get better at all…” He was about to bite his lip but stopped as he realized what he was doing. “…then there’s no way out but through, is there?”

Dean squeezed his hand again and leaned forward to kiss him gently, lightly. “Love you,” he breathed in the space between after they’d parted, their foreheads pressed together. Cas had his eyes shut, but he felt Dean watching him, drank in the warmth and wonder of this moment. He didn't say _love you too_ , but then, he didn't need to. Dean already knew.

_This fight of my life is so hard_

_But I'm gonna survive_

_Oh, these are beautiful times_


	40. Reunion Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food cw, thoughts of wanting to SI

It was a month later. Things had more or less returned to normal for Cas; he was resigned to having regular tests done for a while, but he was back to his regular life, back to work, back to life with Dean and back to filling in the gaps the absence from Gabriel had left.

Speaking of…

 _I can do this. I can do this. I can._ But sometimes it really was easy to say that and quite another thing to do.

Cas swallowed hard as Gabriel pulled up to the restaurant and cut the engine. He suddenly took notice of pressure on the inside corner of his lip, pressure and pain, and let go of the death grip bite he had before he drew blood. _Do better_ _,_ he reminded himself. Cas tried to take a couple deep breaths, but they were jagged, shaky, rough—mirrors of how he felt.

“Hey. Cas.” Gabriel turned to him, palming the keys, patient and serious for once. No jokey tone. “You okay?”

No. Yes. He—what was _okay_ , anyway? He wanted his fucking razor, but that was such bullshit, this was—this was a _good_ thing, wasn’t it? Tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden and annoying, stinging. “I don’t, I don’t know.”

The last time he’d seen his father, Chuck was furious, shouting, wrathful through the window at his mother, loud and then running after the car as they pulled away, and he was left alone, no wait, not _alone_ per se, but he was, God, he _was—_

“Cas, hey. Come here,” Gabriel was saying now, and Cas didn’t realize the tears had fallen until then, Jesus fuck, he was a fucking _mess_ , his father wouldn’t want anything to do with him—“Shhh,” Gabriel was murmuring, “shhhh, I only have this one shirt with me, okay? If you soak it, it’ll look kind of weird,” he was saying, and Cas laughed, hiccupped, “like I just came from a wet T-shirt contest, and we _both_ know I don’t have the nipples for that,” Gabriel said, and Cas was smiling despite himself and pulling back, grateful.

“Thanks.” He pushed the word with difficulty up through the obstruction in his throat, his voice clumped and deeper than usual. Cas coughed. Tried again. “Thank you.”

Gabriel nodded and patted his shoulder firmly. “Anytime, kiddo. You’re good.” He cast an obviously flippant annoyed glance down at his damp shoulder. “You get any boogers on me, I’ll kill you, though.”

Cas burst out laughing again. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, kid.” Gabriel scanned the parking lot quickly. “Hey. There. See that? That blue-green Nissan over there? That’s Dad’s car.”

Shit.

This was it, then. His father—his _real_ father—was in there. In that Olive Garden, waiting on them to walk in.

Cas had so many questions. What was his father like now? Both what did he look like, and what was his personality? Gabriel had said he’d changed—how much? Did he still like writing? And what about the anger thing? Was he really still working on it? Cas was immensely proud of him for that.

“Hey.”

He blinked and shook himself out of his reverie, turning away from the window to look at Gabriel again. “Yeah.” Cas took a few deep breaths again. “Yeah. Okay. I’m ready.”

-

He knew it was Chuck the moment they saw him.

They walked in and told the hostess they were meeting someone, and she started to lead them to a section. But almost immediately after turning a corner, Cas spotted—his father.

He was sitting in a booth facing them, but he didn’t see them yet. His head was down and he was writing in a notebook, looking thoughtful, concentrating on something. Chuck’s hair had grown out a little longer than it had been the last time Cas had seen him, just enough that it was the barest bit wavy.

A shock of nervousness chased down Cas’s spine. _It’s not curly, though,_ he reminded himself. _He’s not—_ him _. It’s_ not _him._ Moreover, Chuck’s hair was graying, or rather, going white. He had a sort of salt-and-pepper look that was lighter than Metatron’s hair was.

The hostess kept walking a step or two, but Gabriel stopped her. “We’re good, thanks,” he said. “We see him.”

Chuck must have heard his voice, because he looked up at that. He saw Gabriel first, and then his gaze met Cas’s. His blue eyes widened, and for a moment he looked young. Like a grade school student called upon in class without the answer: apprehensive, unsure, in the spotlight and unhappy about it. He wore a deep, earthy-brown jacket over a forest green shirt.

Cas almost forgot to breathe.

What the hell should he say? It had been so long, so _fucking_ long… He’d been so young the last time they’d seen each other. Just ten. He was over twice that now; twice the number of years they’d been estranged.

Gabriel gently nudged him with his upper arm against Cas’s. _Quit doing math and let’s go_ , he would have said if he could have read Cas’s thoughts.

Right, okay.

They came forward, taking a seat on the opposite side of the booth.

“Hey, Dad,” Gabriel said casually. He took a sip of one of the water glasses placed on their side of the table. “Ahhh. Mmm. How you been?”

Chuck hadn’t taken his eyes off Cas. “I’m all right. How have you two been?”

“G-good,” Cas managed. “Hi.” His voice was strangled. He wanted his razor. And he didn’t. And he did. It was weird.

Gabriel was looking over at him, Cas could tell. “Hey, kiddo, you all right?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah.”

Chuck took a long drink of coffee and set his notebook aside. “I’m working on an article for the paper,” he said. “A series of them, really. It’s about the mayoral election.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Cas nodded. He wasn’t all that interested in politics, but he should be polite, right?

A waiter came over and took their orders. After she’d left, they sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“How are you, Castiel?” Chuck asked. “Really?”

Cas took a drink of water, swallowing it slowly before answering. How was he supposed to answer that question?

 _I’m fine?_ He wasn’t, not really. He was _working_ up to fine, but in the meantime…

Be honest? But there was a time and a place for that.

And yet, Chuck had seemed to be serious about it.

He could split the difference, but by how much?

“Castiel?” Chuck was watching him intently.

Cas let go of the handful of denim and his thigh he’d had under the table, again barely realizing he’d done it, hand clenched tightly, his subconscious aching for a distraction and willing to settle for these minor aches. But he had to stop even that now. Or try. Just try. “Um. It’s—I just go by Cas now,” he managed. “It’s shorter, you know?”

He brought both hands up to the table to keep them out of danger zones and temptation, interlocking his fingers. “I’m—I’m all right, but I, uh, have some times that are better than others.”

Chuck nodded. “I think we all do,” he agreed. Absently he fiddled with his pen. “N-not—I mean, not to… I’m not trying to erase your, uh, what you went through—”

“—No, I know what you mean,” Cas said, talking over him.

They smiled at each other awkwardly.

Gabriel clapped Cas on the shoulder. “I actually do think he’s doing good,” he said.

“Doing ‘well,’” Chuck corrected in such a teacher-type tone that Cas smiled. His voice had a tone that conveyed a sort of reflex, as if he did this so habitually he might not even realize what mistakes he was correcting.

“Whatever.” Gabriel went right on. “I mean, I don’t see him on a day to day basis, but I’ve noticed him speaking up for himself more at times. It’s great to see.”

Cas felt an almost tangible warmth in his chest and stomach, like he’d been drinking hot chocolate or coffee. It was noticeable? He hadn’t thought it was.

“That’s really good,” Chuck said. “I’m very proud of you, son.”

The corners of Cas’s eyes stung. Oh, God, he couldn’t cry already. “Y-yeah,” he muttered, staring down at his fingernails. “It’s—yeah. I try.”

There was a small moment of quiet. Cas drummed his fingers on the table.

Gabriel was the one to break the silence this time. “We have some pictures of the kids and Cas and Kali,” he said. “I… um, forgot to bring them for you, though.”

Chuck raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his coffee. “Why am I not surprised?” He chuckled. “That’s okay. I’ll get them next time.” After a moment, he turned to Cas. “So. Cas. Are you seeing anyone yourself?”

Oh, shit. What was he supposed to say? It was their first meeting—was he supposed to come out this early?

 _Unclench,_ Cas reminded himself, noticing the pain in his lip again. He was biting it too hard again, like his teeth were a bear trap or something. He forced himself to let go and took a drink of water. “Well, um, I do. Am, I mean.”

Gabriel nudged him gently. “It’s okay.” Cas glanced over. He saw something in Gabriel’s expression that set him at ease. No joking around right now—Gabriel was implying something. “Go ahead,” his brother added.

Cas looked at his father. “I’m seeing a man named Dean,” he said assertively. “We’ve been together almost a year, and he’s really good to me.”

“Well, he _better_ be,” Chuck answered, no trace of judgment on his face. Only curiosity, and protectiveness. “Where’d you meet him?”

“I was walking home from work one night and he was… um, behind a bar.” Cas didn’t feel like doing the hell joke right now. “Some guys were roughing him up, so I kinda—I guess I scared them off and I called 911, got him to the hospital, made sure he was okay. We didn’t exchange numbers then, but a couple weeks later he ran into me at my store.”

“Cas, I wanted to cut in—” Gabriel cleared his throat. “You looked a little freaked. If you’re worried about Dad judging you for being gay, you don’t need to be.”

Chuck nodded. “I went through this myself a few years back. I realized I was bisexual, and I had a relationship with a man for several months.”

“Really?” Cas’s eyes were wide, but they were interrupted by the waitress bringing their orders.

They were quiet again while they each focused on their food. Cas had ordered angel hair pasta, and he’d waited until there was a good amount of Parmesan cheese on it before telling the waitress “okay, that’s good.” He cut one of the meatballs into fourths and started eating.

After a while, Chuck spoke up. “So, yeah,” he said, taking a drink of coffee. “It was with this guy named Richard, but he always went by Dick.”

Gabriel snickered and almost choked a bite of chicken parmesan.

Chuck rolled his eyes and used his cup to point toward Gabriel. “Aaand that would be one small part of the reason I ended it, by the way.”

“I'm sorry, I just can't help it,” Gabriel muttered with a low giggle. “It's _right there_. How do you not make a zillion jokes?”

Chuck ignored him and went on. “And it didn’t end up working out between us. It was like any other relationship I’d had in that regard—we didn’t end up getting along as well as we’d hoped, and we went our separate ways.” He dipped his spoon back into his soup.

“Oh. Huh,” said Cas. “Are you—with anyone now, or…?”

“No.” Chuck broke off a piece of breadstick. “I was with a woman named Eleanor for a couple of years, but that ended some months ago. I’ve been single since then. I don’t—” He paused to eat the bit of breadstick. “—nn, I don’t particularly have the time to date right now, and…” He sighed, lifting one hand in an “oh well” gesture. “I’m getting old, anyway.”

Cas nodded and concentrated on his own food.

“You're not old, Dad,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. “And you only said that so I'd stick up for you. But you had to know I'd see through that.”

“Ah, thought I might get you there anyway,” said Chuck, grinning.

A few minutes went by with minor small talk. Then, Cas spoke up. “Um—umm, Mom said that, uh, that you know about…” The rest of his sentence hung heavy in the air.

Gabriel reached over and knocked his elbow against Cas’s in a strange, goofy show of support.

“I do, yes.” Chuck met his gaze carefully. “She told me—she said you struggle a lot with it, especially lately.”

“Yeah, I do,” Cas said. “I got—I got really bad for a while there a couple of years ago.” As if in emphasis, the scars on his thigh felt extra sensitive. Not exactly throbbing or aching, it was just that he was suddenly extra aware of the fabric of his jeans over that area.

They were all quiet. Not even the sound of chewing; they sat silently, motionless.

Cas wasn't sure what to say. It felt awkward. _He_ felt awkward. He felt like he was the source of it. The reason they all felt weird.

Or did they?

Was that it? Was he projecting?

 _God, you're thinking too much again_ , he thought, but he couldn't help it. Did they feel uncomfortable now, or was it more that they didn't know what to say?

All he could do now was try, anyway. He knew Gabriel cared about him, loved him. He was starting to understand that his father did too.

_Try._

He took a deep breath. “I, uh, I feel like I've been kind of… Not so much living as drifting through life, you know?” It was easier to address the plate in front of him than either man. “Doing what I had to so I could survive.” Deny what happened and bury the memories. Attack himself (literally, figuratively). Take the anger and hurt felt for one father figure who'd betrayed him and magnify it, aim it at his real, literal father, whose mistakes paled in comparison to the magnitude of what Metatron had done.

Refuse to grow. To thrive. To even attempt to get down to the nitty-gritty of where his shadows were, for so many years, until he was up against a wall that summer and the abuse came out and he was forced to admit it. He'd have been completely satisfied going to therapy and deliberately ignoring where his real issues were.

For years, if that's what happened.

“Cas?”

He lifted his head to see both his brother and father looking at him. “Are you okay?” Gabriel continued. It was a little scary to see him so serious.

Cas nodded. “Yeah. Or, or if I'm not— I will be.” He smiled. “I'm going to try. Really. I—I want to be happy. I want to be here.”

Chuck took a shaky breath and reached across to squeeze his hand. “Well, I'm glad to hear that, son,” he said. Cas felt something inside his chest wobble as he realized there were tears in his father's eyes. “We need you around here.”

Gabriel patted him on the back. “Yup. If only for the free babysitting.”

God, that broke the tension, and Cas felt he was laughing too loud, but he didn't care, it felt so good to crack up. He wiped his own tears and shook his head. “You know my rates. Nothing for free.”

“Dammit,” Gabriel said, snapping his fingers in a _fuck!_ gesture. “Worth a try.”

“He's learning fast, kid…” Chuck pointed to Gabriel.

Cas's phone chimed. He wrestled it free from his pocket and checked— a text from Dean.

_Hey. Hope it's going well. Love you. D._

“Whatcha got there?” Gabriel asked, not having missed the silly happy grin on Cas's face as he started to text back.

“Ah, nothing,” he mumbled, feeling his face grow warm. _It's great, thanks. Dad's…_ Cas couldn't figure out how to summarize that in a few words, so he deleted it and started the sentence over. _Tell u when I get home. Love you xx -C_

When he looked up, Chuck and Gabriel were both smirking at him. “What?”

“You were blushing,” Chuck said, laughter in his voice.

Cas folded his phone and dropped his head, embarrassed. Damn face giving him away.

“Oh, this is great, I've missed teasing you,” Gabriel added. “Lover boy.”

“Shut up,” Cas mumbled, but to his chagrin he couldn't fight back a grin of his own. He put his phone away and picked his fork back up, still beaming and glad all over again that he'd managed to dial 911 that night. He was unbelievably happy right now, and he couldn't wait to have Dean and Chuck meet at some point.

Even if he did have to endure some more teasing.


	41. This Is Not A Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food cw, sex cw (not at the same time ;) )

Dean couldn't believe the movie they'd just sat through. The trailers had made it look a little more palatable. And maybe that should have given them a clue. Oftentimes the better the trailer looked, the worse the movie was; they put all the best scenes in it to draw people in.

He said as much while they were walking out of their row and added that it was the cheesiest he'd seen in a long time.

“Yeah, seriously,” Cas laughed, his right arm slung along the small of Dean’s back. “Think I need some crackers with that one.”

Dean kissed the top of his head and grinned. “Hey. _You_ picked it out, babe.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cas muttered in a fake grumpy tone. He took a long final sip of his huge soda cup and rattled it in Dean’s direction. “Want any before I ditch this thing?”

“Hmm-mmm.”

They walked out of their specific theater room, Cas dropping the last of the popcorn bag and the cup into a trash with a _thunk_ as they did. Dean shook his head in bemused frustration. “Pretty standard ending, though,” he said. “We could’ve split about halfway through and still known how it’d go.”

Cas was checking his phone. “Shut up, you liked it too,” he shot back, deadpan but affectionate, the corner of his lip quivering in amusement. He squeezed Dean’s side.

Dean scoffed automatically but nodded. He had. Fuck, Cas knew him too well. As shitty and cheesy and predictable as it had been, he’d actually gotten into the damn thing.

The drive home was relatively quiet. A little too much so; something Cas seemed to pick up on. Dean caught sight of him glancing over a couple of times when Dean didn’t answer right away to something Cas had said.

Hey, sometimes he had stuff on his mind. No biggie.

“You okay?” Cas asked as they sat at a red light.

Dean nodded. “Mm-hmm. Kinda tired.” He shrugged, staring straight ahead at the traffic signal.

“All right…” Cas sighed. “If it means that much to you, I’ll let you pick the movie next time.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Cas, it’s not that big a deal, I’m just giving you a hard time for the fun of it.”

Cas squeezed his hand. “Jackass.”

“It's part of my charm.” Dean looked over at him and smirked, watching the way the streetlights lit up part of Cas's face. God, he was gorgeous even in terrible lighting.

-

“Just, y’know, seems like they always end up with the whole happy ending thing,” Dean went on later when they were walking into their apartment. He continued to feign annoyance—not even sure why at this point. He toed off his shoes at the door while Cas ducked down behind the fridge door. After a second of watching, Dean chuckled. “Lookin’ for anything in particular there?”

Cas reappeared empty-handed. “Nah, probably just force of habit,” he murmured with a tinge of pink in his cheeks. “Want anything for yourself?”

Dean shrugged. “Not reall—” Changed his mind mid-word. “Eh, maybe a beer.”

“Sure.”

Once they’d retired to the couch in the living room in front of some random rerun, their hands entwined as usual, Dean brought the subject up again. “It’s just so _tired_ , that whole thing. You knew they were gonna work things out and end up back together and happy-ever-after and—”

“Oh my God, Dean, _what_ is the big deal here?” Cas finally snapped. “Dog with a bone here.” He paused, realized his tone, and started again. “Sorry. It’s—you’re not acting like yourself.”

“What?” Dean frowned and shook his head, scoffing. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table in what he realized belatedly was a bad, too-obvious attempt to be casual. “Nah. Nah, I’m fine, babe.”

Shit. Shit, _shit_. Backpedal.

Cas stared at him with raised eyebrows. After a moment, he blinked, but he let the subject drop. “Okay. All right, fine.” He got to his feet. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Be right back.”

-

When Cas came out of the restroom, he happened to catch sight of Dean fiddling with the ring on his right hand. In one swoop of his stomach, Cas understood.

He took his seat again, shifting slightly to face Dean, one knee brushing the back of the couch, his other foot planted on the floor. “Dean, are… are you trying to propose or something?”

Dean’s head snapped up. “What? N-no. No!” he babbled. “That—that’s ridiculous.” Too late he realized he’d been toying with his ring and abandoned it. “No, cause—cause if I was, I’d—I’d be a hell of a lot smoother than this, wouldn’t I?” Unbelievable. He was actually blushing, a deep pink coloring his skin from his cheeks all the way to his neck as Cas watched. “I’m—uh, curious. Wondering. If I actually _was_ , y’know, uhh— _that_ —I’d probably, I’m probably s’posed to have a real ring, right? Or at least some sort of fancy speech. I’m—that ain’t happening.” He coughed. “Apparently.”

Cas couldn’t help needling him. A grin spread across his face, unchecked and out of control, as he balanced his head against his palm, his elbow propped against the top of the back of the couch. “Oh yeah? And, uh, what would you say in this speech?”

Dean buried his head in his palms. “Augh. Cas… Don’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” Cas nudged Dean’s ankle with his foot. “Talk romantic to me.”

“Okay, fine.” Dean dropped his hands and looked up at him through his eyelashes, head still inclined. “Probably, uh—” He straightened up and grabbed the bottle of beer. Took a quick drink. “Probably something nauseatingly domestic about how happy you make me. How I—I like who I am now, these days. Just, uh—” He shrugged. “Hit all the clichés there, right?”

Cas’s smile was hurting his face. “Yeah. But this—you’re not _actually_ asking me, so you don’t have to worry about sounding original or anything.”

“Right.” Dean nodded and seemed to find a sudden confidence. “Yeah. You’re—yeah, all right. Okay. So then I’d probably say something about how I never saw myself in a long-term relationship. Like, _ever_. But now that, you know, that I’m with you, I—I can’t imagine things any other way.”

“Considering that this … _isn’t_ a proposal, I’d say you’re doing really well,” Cas said, still grinning.

“Shut up, you ass.” Dean’s face had never lost the flush from earlier, and it flared even pinker now. Clearly, he knew Cas had him. His mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but he was at a loss for further words. Helplessly, he held his palms out, fingers spread wide. “…Uh—w- _well_?”

Cas gazed at him and slowly lifted his eyebrows. “Well, what? We’re only talking hypothetically here.”

Dean growled.

Fine, game over. “Yes. Yes, you dork, yes.” Cas reached for him, locking his arms around Dean and squeezing hard. God. This man… His cheeks still hurt from the unbridled joy, and now that he’d leaned forward his knees were at an odd angle from the weird position earlier, but he didn’t care, this was all too perfect.

“Hey, if you could, uh—” Dean was struggling to free himself, but Cas’s grip was a little tight. “—let me go for a second, I could get this damn thing on your finger, huh?”

Cas drew back, looking down to see Dean twiddling his ring between two fingers. His breath caught in his throat.

Dean glanced up to meet Cas’s eyes for a moment. His tongue swept out to moisten his lips, and then his eyelids fell partway as he focused on their hands.

It stuck.

The fucking ring stuck partway over Cas’s second knuckle, and they both sort of froze for a second before looking up at each other’s baffled faces. Cas had a feeling Dean’s expression of slightly panicked shock, eyes wide and mouth agape, mirrored his own.

And then they were both just cracking up, as though a switch had been flipped.

“Oh my—oh, my _God_ ,” Dean barely managed to get out, covering his mouth with one hand as he laughed. “Holy shit.”

“Guess this really _isn’t_ a proposal, huh?” Cas slid the ring back and forth around his knuckle, but he could tell it really didn’t want to go any further. Maybe with some effort; hell, maybe they could take it to a jeweler and get it resized.

But it was Dean’s ring, he thought. An heirloom. Cas hated the thought of modifying it in any way. Honestly, as touched as he was that Dean was offering it in this way, there was a part of him that didn’t want to take it _away_ from Dean either.

The thought of a jeweler might not be a bad idea.

Cas finally pulled the ring off and held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, examining the silver band. The line bisecting its outer edge in the middle. The narrower edges at the top and bottom, a more coppery color.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who can’t let go of somethin’ here,” Dean murmured with affection. Cas frowned at him. “You and that damn joke.”

“Oh.” Cas took a breath and held the ring out to him. “Here,” he said. “It’s—it was your mom’s originally. You should have it.”

The barest shadow of hurt flickered over Dean’s face before he was hiding it behind a blank look, and then a scoff, a joke. “Wha—We can have it resized, Cas. No biggie.” He nudged Cas with his elbow. “Hey. Don’t, uh, leave me hangin’ here.” But Cas knew Dean’s words were a mask for something more.

Deliberately, Cas took Dean’s hand and replaced the ring back in its original spot. “I don’t want to change it—”

“—Hey, unless you wanna wear it on your _pinkie_ or somethi—”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Cas’s voice was assertive, imperious.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Okay.” He nodded and raised both hands in defense. “Go on.”

Cas reached for Dean’s hand again, brushing his fingertips gently against the ring. “I don’t want to change it, because it’s such an important part of your history. Part of _you_ , at this point. And it’s… Be honest with yourself. Would you truly be comfortable, in the long run, without it?”

“If it’s with you? I would.” Dean’s fingers tightened within his.

“I love you for saying that,” Cas said with a smile. “But I can’t accept it. And we’ll have to get you a ring from me anyway. Let’s do this right, huh? Get matching ones?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, you cheeseball.”

Cas’s smile deepened into a smirk. “You love it.”

“Fuck.” Dean sighed heavily. “Yeah, dammit, I do.” A warmth settled in Cas’s stomach at the prophetic words. “Come here.” And then Dean was pulling him forward again, his palms sliding up along Cas’s forearms and tugging gently before their lips met, soft and light. At first.

But Cas didn't want gentle. Not right then. As they kissed, he leaned into it, and though it wasn't totally intentional on his part, they found themselves pitching back along the length of the couch, with Cas landing haphazardly over Dean.

“Well,” Dean chuckled softly. “Hi there.”

Cas brought his thumb up to trace along Dean's lower lip. “Hello, Dean.” He cradled Dean's jaw, looking at him in absolute adoration, breathing him in.

For several minutes they just stared at each other, low-burning chemistry warring and blending with the contented peace Cas knew they both felt in the other's presence. Dean's hands were resting gently on Cas's sides, unhurried. Steadying.

And then Dean shifted slightly under him. “Cas. Hey,” he said, very gently. “How are you?”

Cas's brow lowered in confusion. “I'm… good, Dean, I—”

Then he became aware of it himself. He was hard. Hard, and with his hips partially open, pressed down against Dean's thigh. “Oh. _Ohhh._ ”

Dean's eyes never left Cas's face. Concern, wariness, uncertainty all washed over his freckled features. “We can— we can stop right now,” Dean said roughly. His tongue peeked out, wetting his lips for a brief second.

Cas considered. But… No. No, he… He was okay. Truth be told, he didn't really want to stop. He felt safe, he felt good, he was at home. He was with Dean. And he was stable. He felt okay.

“I'm fine,” he murmured. “Really.” He pulled himself closer, his other hand grasping Dean's overshirt as he leaned down to meet Dean's lips again. Safe, home, secure, love, peace, contentment.

Dean's hands traveled and initially rested tenderly on his back, but then they cautiously, carefully, slid up and down, gently massaging. It felt good. So good.

“Hey,” Dean whispered between kisses. “Tell me if you're— if you're not okay, huh?” There was a note of fear in his voice, worry on his face. “You can stop _anytime._ You know that, right?”

Cas nodded, smiling at him reassuringly. “I trust you, Dean.” He breathed. “And I trust myself.”

A look of wonder chased away the anxiety in those green eyes. Cas felt more powerful than he'd been in years. To stave off the blush he knew was coming on, he closed his eyes again and pressed his mouth back to Dean's.

They'd only been kissing a minute or two when Dean pulled back again. “This isn’t required, you know?” he said, his hand meeting Cas's and clasping loosely. “I, uh—I’m not gonna die. If we never, uh, go any farther than this. If you change your mind. We’ll be okay.” He laughed and covered his face with his free hand, looking past Cas and up at the ceiling. “Holy _shit_ , I sound so fucking sappy. Jesus.”

Cas was grinning so hard he could barely talk. “I like it.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, feeling embarrassingly enamored. “And I already knew you were a dork.” He was so in love his chest felt tight, and his cheeks ached with the force of his smile. Being in love hurt in the good ways.

“Okay, so—yeah.” Dean cleared his throat and gazed at him again. He really couldn't seem to stop studying Cas's face. “So. We doin’ this? Let me know if—if you wanna stop, okay?”

“Yeah.” Cas swallowed. “I will. I trust you.” He was unsure of how this would feel, but he wasn't afraid. Not the way he would have been a year or more ago. Not after everything he'd been through this year. He meant what he'd said a bit ago— he trusted Dean, but more to the point, he trusted himself as well.

And there was Dean, watching him with such care and patience, willing to wait as long as Cas needed to… Those ridiculous green eyes, full of love and concern— And he didn’t think there was anything wrong with Cas. He didn’t judge Cas at all, for the diagnoses, for the medications, for his past. Because he had issues, too. Because he also knew how it felt to struggle with a past. Because he had pieces of himself missing, too, the same as Cas, and somehow, in this whole huge world, they’d each managed to find someone whose missing pieces were in sync with their own.

Dean shifted underneath him, but then his eyebrows drew together; he glanced toward the hall. “Cas, it probably would work better, if— if we were—”

“Bedroom?” Cas guessed.

“Yeah. More room.”

Cas nodded. “Okay.”

In their bedroom, they lied facing each other. For a couple of minutes they just were there, in the moment. Content to remain motionless and quiet. Hands entwined, again.

“Still good?” Dean finally asked, voice scarcely more than a breath.

Cas shuffled closer to narrow the distance between them. He unlocked their fingers. “Yeah. More than.” He undid his jeans, shuffled on the bed enough to push them a few inches down. With a nervous but determined hold, he guided Dean’s hand to his hip and lifted the waistband of his boxers, letting the tips of Dean’s fingers slip inside.

He was acutely aware of the sound of Dean’s breathing as he let go of his hand and ran his own palm up along Dean’s side. And Dean, his face—looking at Cas in astonishment like that—Cas couldn’t handle it. He closed his eyes, lightly clutching bits of the old gray shirt Dean was wearing.

Cas leaned forward and briefly pressed his mouth to Dean’s. Shivers rolled through his stomach. “Please.”

And then Dean was reaching farther, just barely grazing the length of heated flesh within. Cas let out a small gasp of air; Dean watched his face carefully. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Keep going.”

And Dean did, his fingers gently wrapping around Cas’s erection and holding him cautiously, like he was more afraid and anxious than Cas was. He kept his gaze on Cas’s face, wide green eyes alert as he began to slowly, slowly pump his hand.

Oh, his skin, his skin on Cas’s—overwhelming, too much, not enough, all at the same time. Cas was excited and afraid, speechless and fervent, too many things at once.

Dean pulled away. “Still good?”

Cas nodded shakily. “Y-y-yeah. More.”

He shut his eyes again, but then Dean had his other hand on the side of Cas’s face, thumb brushing gently along his jawline. “Hey. Stay with me, huh?”

Cas opened his eyes long enough to meet Dean’s fretful gaze. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “I’m here. Just—ahh—keep—keep talking.” Eyelids down again, he leaned his head into the touch of Dean’s hand and breathed.

“About what?”

“An—” God, Dean was a wonder. “Anything. Just your voice, I need it.” Cas curled closer, dropping his forehead against the curve of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Keep—uhh—Talk.” _Ground me_ , he wanted to say, but couldn’t, struggling merely to exist there, in this year, in their bed, one hand holding tight to a fist of Dean’s shirt and the other grasping at the blanket beneath them.

Dean chuckled softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay, Cas.” His palm, smooth and leisurely stroking now, not as fast as he’d done a moment ago. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” It felt _so_ good. Warm. Safe. Right. “You're good.”

Cas’s breath hitched and he pressed closer, feeling anxious and content at the same time. Inadvertently he dug his nails into the skin of Dean’s side as he clenched his shirt tighter. He was, he _was_ all right, this was okay. He moved his other arm, wrapping it around Dean’s back, just barely holding on for the ride. And damn, his heart…

“We’re all right, huh?” Dean said, still working him. He picked up the pace; Cas groaned. “Yeah, you’re great. Stay with me, stay with me here.”

The warmth was below, as well as centered through him. His—the tightness, the heat in his –balls (weird to think the word so casually). It was— something was going to happen. “I’m with you,” Cas managed to get out.

Dean turned his head to kiss Cas’s temple. “Good. Cause I want you here,” he said. “I gotcha. We got each other.” His thumb over the tip of Cas’s penis; a certain pattern of pressure with his fingers at the exact instant he increased his speed again. “We’ll be okay. I have you.”

Oh, God.

A surging up, and there it was, pulsing from him, warm and wet, Cas gripping Dean’s shirt too tight again, moaning, Dean laughing softly, his hand subsiding in speed and holding him more carefully and loosely as the pressure got to be too much. Cas’s mind was almost blank and floaty ( _damn, is this really what it’s like?_ , he wondered, amazed all over again), and when he lifted his head and opened his eyes, it was with a strange sort of surprise and contentment.

“Well?” Dean asked, letting go. “How was it?”

Cas blushed. He tried to speak, but couldn’t gather his thoughts and ended up closing his mouth again.

Dean grinned. “Thought so.”

“You ass.” Cas unwound his fingers from the folds of Dean’s shirt and shook his head. He couldn’t speak for a moment, catching his breath. Slightly embarrassed—especially as he glanced down and became extra aware of the mess in his boxers.

“I’m gonna go get a washcloth.” Dean rolled over and got to his feet. Cas watched him go with heavy-lidded eyes, his cheeks pink, smiling in spite of himself.

After Dean had returned with a fresh washcloth for Cas and a change of boxers and sweatpants, and they were settled into bed under the covers, he turned serious. “So. How are you? Really?”

Cas was tired enough that he felt like falling asleep all over again, but he propped himself up on one elbow. “I think… fine,” he said. “Your voice, you speaking to me—it helped. I was here with you. I didn’t—I didn’t have any flashbacks.” It felt like he should have. He worried he might have nightmares.

Dean looped their fingers together like they had been earlier, before bringing their entwined hands to his mouth and carefully kissing the back of Cas’s. He smiled slightly but looked a little wary.

“I don't know if… I might have trouble sleeping, though,” Cas admitted, swallowing hard. “But— that's something that I'll deal with anyway, on my own. It still happens on its own.” Dean's eyes widened; he seemed a bit more concerned and almost guilty, so Cas elaborated. “Even with things that have nothing to do with what happened to me. I swear.” He squeezed Dean's hand. “I just… I have to accept the nightmares, deal with them, forget them, handle them, whatever they are. Some are different than others and I—” He was rambling. “Forget it. The point is, I know I'm stronger now than I thought I was, and even if I have a bad dream or two, it doesn't matter.”

Dean still looked worried.

“But consciously… I mean… this, you and me? I think I'm going to be okay. Really, Dean. I trust you.” Cas kept his gaze locked onto his boyfriend’s as he spoke.

And he did. After all the time they’d spent together, and the time they’d been living together… After all they’d seen each other through? He certainly did trust Dean at this point. More, somehow, even than he trusted Donna and Meg—amazing friends that they were. “So trust _me_ to know myself here.”

“I do,” Dean said. “I will.” He leaned in to kiss Cas, his lips pressing lightly and then breaking away from Cas’s as a big cheeky smirk spread across his face. “So—so then,” he said, his teeth flashing white in the low lighting of the room. “Does that mean you trust me to trust you to trust me?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Oh, my god. Why am I going out with you?”

“Cause I’m awesome.”

Cas punched Dean’s forearm and turned away before Dean could catch sight of the matching grin on his own face.


	42. This Is Not A Big Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: detailed discussion of the nature of SI/ abuse triggers, blade seen on-screen but not used

Ugh, thirsty. Dean woke up dry-mouthed and confused, fuzzy-headed from waking in the middle of a dream he couldn’t remember.

As he sat up, he noticed Cas was gone and frowned. Strange. He shrugged and got to his feet, figuring Cas was in the bathroom. But—no, the light under the bathroom was out.

He wasn’t in the kitchen when Dean went to snag a glass of water, either. Odd. Where _was_ he?

Dean walked into the little hallway area of their apartment leading to the other bathroom and the guest bedroom. A ribbon of light was glowing under the restroom door.

“Cas?” he called out, unsure. A bit anxious.

No answer.

He came closer and rapped his knuckles on the door. It wasn’t shut completely, though, and swung open gently. “Oh, sorr—Cas?”

“Yeah.”

Cas didn’t look up. He was seated on the closed toilet lid, head inclined, dark blue sweatpants pulled down to his knees. He held a blade in his hand, grasping it loosely, eyeing it with great concentration.

Dean’s heart thudded a fraction harder than his knuckles had against the door. “Are you okay?”

Cas lifted his head then, meeting his gaze. “I… think I am,” he said slowly, puzzlement all over his features. “You can come in, by the way. I’m—I’m not actually…”

And he wasn’t, Dean realized. There was nothing fresh. No telltale red. The steel unstained.

Hesitantly he stepped in and around Cas, taking a seat on the side of the bathtub. He yawned and scrubbed the heel of his palm over his eye, blinking back the last dredges of sleep. “So. Talk to me, babe. What’s, uh—what’s goin’ on?” He looked studiously at Cas’s face to keep from staring down as Cas returned to intently examining the razor.

This was huge, Cas letting him in during a moment like this. Dean believed what Cas had said about not injuring even if he hadn’t seen the proof himself. If that hadn’t been the case, if Cas had been cutting, he’d have at least shut the door tighter or possibly locked it. But still… what the hell was he supposed to say here?

Cas exhaled, his blue eyes narrowing. He lifted the damn thing closer to his face, staring harder, more thoughtfully.

“Cas,” Dean couldn’t help saying in a strained tone.

“Oh, sorry.” Cas turned and set it on the counter before turning to face Dean. “I…” He swallowed and glanced up at the shower walls above Dean for a moment, his gaze unfocused. “Here’s the thing. I don’t… I didn’t…”

Quietly, Dean reached for his hand and held on.

Cas squeezed back.

After a moment or two, Cas spoke. “After tonight, I… I woke up a while ago, and… I was lying there a while, and… I kept waiting for it to hit me. The shame. The feeling wrong. The guilt.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head. “Like… I’m not allowed to enjoy… _that_ kind of thing, you know?”

“You are, though,” Dean said quietly, taking comfort in the warmth of Cas’s hand in his own. The small grounding presence of their fingers entwined. He hoped Cas was feeling the same.

Cas bobbed his head before slowly looking up, opening his eyes. “I know, on a… a purely intellectual level. But that’s not quite what I mean here. It’s… it’s weird. I didn’t—I didn’t feel the way I thought I would, like I always imagined I would. Like I have in the past over smaller things. And it—it threw me. After so long feeling this way, after so long resorting to self-harm when I hated myself or felt ashamed or sad or angry or—or _whatever_ … I don’t know.” His eyebrows furrowed. “And it wasn’t that _that_ , that confusion in itself, was triggering me—it was more that…” Helplessly, he lifted his shoulders and dropped them before casting a glance behind him at the blade near the sink.

“Turning to something familiar?” Dean suggested.

“Yes. Exactly.” Cas turned and met his gaze. “Something like that.” He bit his lip. “I don’t even think I was going to actually cut tonight, to be completely honest. I just kind of wanted a moment with it. To think—or something.” His cheeks pinkened. “That sounds weird, but—”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I think I get it. It’s—it’s not something I can get from the inside, but I think I know what you mean. You explained it pretty well.” He rubbed his thumb against Cas’s hand.

A few minutes passed in silence. Dean kept his focus on Cas, and after a few seconds he stopped being so hyper aware of the razor just a couple feet away from them. From the way Cas was paying attention to him and watching his face with those unbelievably blue eyes, a hint of a smile reassuring on his pale pink lips, Dean figured Cas might have put it out of his mind as well.

Finally, Cas spoke. “Thank you, Dean.”

“For what?” Dean frowned.

“For being so patient with me.” With his free hand, Cas reached for him, fitting his fingers against the back of Dean’s neck and head. Their lips met, gently, before they separated and Cas rested his head against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes as Cas let go of his hand to wrap his arms around him. “It’s not a _chore_ , Cas,” he murmured. “You make it sound like… like I don’t know what. I care about you is all. A lot, you idiot.”

Cas let out a muffled sort of half-laugh against the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “I love you, too, you know that?”

After a moment, they got to their feet and Cas pulled up his sweatpants. He sighed and took one last look at the razor blade. As they started to leave the restroom, Cas paused in the doorway. Dean was standing just outside, waiting ( _don’t watch him, don’t stare_ , he thought, _you’re not a parent or therapist_ ). Cas was taking a couple of seconds too long than expected, though, and as much as Dean resisted, he couldn’t help peeking in.

He was just in time to see Cas dropping a toilet-paper-wrapped object into the trash can, shaped exactly as if Cas had wrapped the blade in tissue to keep it from cutting the edges of the plastic bag.

Cas left the restroom and walked past him. “Not a word,” Cas said.

“Okay.”

“It’s not that big a deal. I'm not necessarily Officially Quitting or anything.” Cas even drew the capital letters in the air to illustrate his point. Nerd.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” Dean replied, fighting back a grin as they headed back to their bedroom.


	43. What Happened Back Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse discussion, discussion of legal system not working in regards to reported abuse, mention of past suicidal thoughts

This time at the park, the cooler weather wasn't so unusual for the time of year. It was only about a week into April, so they weren't exactly expecting soaring temperatures. But weirdly, it seemed almost the same type of day as the one last summer had been when they'd been here.

Dean and Cas walked along the edge of the lake for a while, tossing peas to the ducks from a defrosted bag they'd brought along. Cas had actually _researched_ this—apparently it was a good idea to feed them peas, cut-up grapes, even chopped up lettuce. Jeez, Dean had just felt proud enough to have known that bread was a bad idea the first time they'd been out here. And that one, he'd only remembered from a tidbit Sam said when they were kids.

There wasn't anyone else around, which seemed to make it easier for Cas to talk. They talked about smaller topics for a while. How Sam was doing in school and how he was wondering about graduate school in Kansas, but wasn't sure yet. What Cas was thinking of saying when the inevitable happened and Katie or Mikey asked about his scars. How Charlie and Benny and Donna and Meg were doing, and how it was annoying that Meg had gotten so busy with her two jobs that she was hard to see these days. And Dean and Cas's own jobs. A rough customer at Singer's bitching them out and how Bobby had later complimented the way Dean dealt with it; a random customer making a point to tell Cas's manager how helpful he'd been on a stressful, busy day.

They took a seat after a while on one of the benches. Cas set the nearly empty bag next to him and leaned forward, looking lost in thought and barely blinking.

High above, the clouds drifted, slowly.

“All right,” Cas said. He visibly braced himself. “So—so that day. He and Mom had just divorced, but he still had stuff at the house so he'd come over once in a while to get things as she dug it out.”

“Shoulda just burned it,” Dean suggested softly, shrugging.

Cas nodded. “Yeah, you'd think, but there was— I can't remember specifically, but I know there were papers or something important he needed. Bank things and shit.” He rested his hands against the wood of the bench on either side of his legs, fingers curling over the edge, eyes locked onto the water in front of him.

“Anyway. I'd been hanging out with Donna and Meg the one night, and we ended up staying over at Donna's house.” His gaze grew distant, traveling back in time. “I would have just come back the previous night, but when Mom said he was going to be coming to get some things, I figured I'd stay over, wait it out, you know?” One shoulder lifted.

“It's kind of hard to explain without going into a lot of detail,” Cas continued, “but while I'd been gone, he was talking to my mom about me.”

Dean gritted his teeth. It couldn't be anything good he'd said, obviously.

“Like how I used to be a _good kid_ ,” Cas said with a mocking tone, rolling his eyes, “and how I was turning into a troublemaker, and how I was getting into fights at school and...”

“Sure, yeah, fights.” Dean scoffed. Naomi should've known right there something was up. “Like you'd ever have started fights, riiigh—”

A glint of a smile broke through the gloom on Cas's face. He turned his head. “I did once.”

Dean blinked. “Wait, what?”

“When I was 16 or 17, this kid Zachariah,” confirmed Cas.

“No way.”

“Mm-hmm. In Ms. Harvelle's history class. It was more of a misunderstanding, actually, but technically, since I did something first, I started it.” Cas frowned. “I still say I _shoved_ his arm, I didn't _punch_ him—” Broke off. “Sorry. Tangent.”

He lifted his hands and began picking at one fingernail. “Yeah, it... So Metatron didn't have to lie about me in that _one_ single regard, but he did make it seem like I was about to start hitting people left and right for no reason.”

Dean's phone went off. He checked the caller ID just to make sure that it wasn't work or something calling, but let it go to voicemail otherwise.

Cas's fingernail tore at the end slightly. He peeled the tiny piece away and began carelessly trying to sooth the ragged edge with his thumbnail. “So I was having a reprieve from the stress over at Donna's, trying to relax, and there he was, telling my mom all this shit about me and how I was probably getting both Donna and Meg pregnant and whatever else.”

“Your mom knows you, though. She should have known it was all bullshit.”

Cas sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, she said she did, deep down, but I was also _really_ emotional and... Not exactly a kid that acted out in the usual sense, exactly, but I mouthed off sometimes back then. And I'm _not_ excusing anything the guy said, but nothing he said—except for that one about Donna and Meg—was one hundred percent out of the realm of possibility. Running away. Maybe drinking. I could almost see how it would make my mom believe it. I mean, if I squinted really hard.”

Dean shook his head and pressed his fingers to his closed eyes. “Jesus.”

“Yep.” Cas steeled himself and continued. “And then I get home, right, and he's gone, but my mom is _mad_. And it didn't help that I had to have Meg's boyfriend Mick drop me off either, so she was seeing someone she didn't recognize and a car she didn't know when I got back.”

“I don't—Cas, you were like _twenty_ ,” Dean said. “It's not like she could give you a curfew.” Christ. What exactly had that house _been_ like?

“I know. That's how things were, though. She was just that overprotective.” Cas looked like he wanted to laugh, but was either fighting it back or the stress was winning out over the mirth. “Meg didn't drive at that point, and Donna had some emergency with her brother, so that's how Mick ended up taking me back—he had to drop her off at work on the way.”

They'd already gotten used to the low temperature long before now, but when a particularly thick cloud moved in front of the sun, the air seemed to drop a few tangible degrees and Dean shivered.

“So I walk in, and she's already on edge. I mean...” Cas's voice was thick with annoyance, with frustration as he relived that night. “She's convinced I lied about where I stayed and won't listen to anything I say, and we're just... Just going at it, you know?”

Dean hated this, hated that it was clearly stressing Cas out to go back and talk about this shit. But Cas had wanted to tell him. Had said before that it helped. Had wanted to tell the rest of it. So here he was, and he'd listen, and although he wished he was better at having the right words, he knew his very presence didn't help as much as the process did. This was as much Cas helping himself by talking and getting it out as it was about having someone to listen to it all.

“I'm trying to explain, and she finally gets the part about Mick being Meg's boyfriend, but Metatron just...” Cas cracked each of his knuckles with irritation, until he got to the middle finger of his right hand and it wouldn't pop. He grumbled and gave up. “He really did a number on her, apparently, she wouldn't listen. She wouldn't... _listen_.”

In more ways than one, Dean realized angrily.

It took Cas a moment or two to gather his words together. “She said some things Metatron had brought up about me. And I... I finally just, I was at the end of my rope, I was mad, I said it, and—I didn't really...” A muscle clenched at the side of his mouth. “It sounds cliched, but I really didn't know I was going to say it until it was out, and then I couldn't take it back. 'He abused me,' just like that, you know?”

“How'd your mom react?” Dean asked.

“She freaked.” Cas looked up at the lake before them and almost seemed to smile, but it was twisted with a bitterness. “She—she actually thought I was—she thought I was pulling something at first, can you believe that? 'You can't say that kind of thing,' she said. She thought I was trying to get out of trouble.” He closed his eyes. Shook his head. Frown lines skittered across his forehead; a couple tears darted down his cheeks.

Dean reached for his hand again, holding on, trying to ground him to here and now. “I'm sorry,” he said simply.

Cas swallowed and scrubbed at his face with the back of his other hand. “Yeah. I—She is too.” He let out his breath in one quick exhale, but inhaling was harder; he breathed jaggedly. “She apologizes for that a lot. I know she didn't—she didn't really mean to doubt me, it was just...”

“A shitty night.” An automatic (and shitty) reaction.

“Mm-hmm.”

“So then, when, when she realized what I said,” Cas said, “she was immediately calling the police. Like, no time to talk to me, no time for debate.” Dean squeezed his hand and Cas squeezed back, a bit too hard but Dean held back tightly, knowing Cas needed the pressure. “It was so hectic. I don't—She was on the phone with them, and then she handed it off to me and I talked. I don't remember what I said. I barely remember the police coming, and when I sat in the cop car and they had me write something.”

There was a long silence.

Above them, the cloud remained. Stubborn.

“I was in a cop car a couple times,” Dean offered weakly. “Not a fun experience.”

“Not even from the front seat,” Cas agreed. “I still feel like my report was a piece of shit. I'm not good at writing things. I don't know if anyone believed it. And I had to scramble together the—the memories I wanted to bury forever, and just...” Cas shivered, so Dean sat a little closer, shifted so that they were side-by-side, their body heat warming each other.

Cas breathed. “But whatever. Doesn't matter. Nothing ever came of it.”

Dean turned to face him, frowning. “It...” He'd already known this story had a shitty ending, but...

“Nope.” Cas tilted his head back against the bench and looked directly up into the clouds above them, his eyes bluer than the sky today. “Mom sent me to live with her parents for a couple months that summer to be extra safe. She went to stay in a domestic violence shelter. My grandparents were all right, but we were never that close. It wasn't like 'oh, you're safe, you're with family' or anything. They were an option because they lived out of state, and Metatron wouldn't consider them, even.”

He closed his eyes and slid his hand from Dean's clasp, crossing his arms over his chest. Face still directed upwards. Dean got the impression he was trying to soak up what sun he could through the clouds, while also blocking out the memories he was spilling.

It took Cas a minute or two to finish.

“And a couple months later, after—after I talked to some more people, detectives and shit, we got a letter saying they weren't going to proceed to a trial. Insufficient evidence. Cause of how long it had been.” He still didn't look over.

Dean waited. He waited while he tried to find the right words, which didn't exist. He waited while he worried if he should say anything at all. He waited while time moved forward, stubbornly, bitterly so. And the more time that passed, the less time that Cas had to do anything. If he even still _could_ ; Dean wasn't sure about the specifics of things, but he did know that after a certain point, a window would close.

It was all so unfair.

Finally, he just said, “I'm sorry.”

Cas lifted his head and opened his eyes, dropping his arms. “Yeah. I know.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. His expression grew cloudy, but not quite dark. Sort of the same as the sky, Dean thought. “But you know what? I... Sometimes I think it almost was for the best. In a way.”

Dean blinked. _The fuc—_

Cas laughed. Actually laughed. “At least for me, Dean. You should see your face right now.” He took Dean's hand again. “It would have become public knowledge. Everything, what happened to me. And it was hard enough to deal with, just... Having as many people know about it who did, as it was. To be in the spotlight, to be in the papers or whatever?” He shook his head. “It would have destroyed me no matter what the result was. And if, after all that, he was found innocent anyway...” A shudder. “I wouldn't have been able to handle it. It would have been shitty or worst, and in a way, I got the better option that I could have, by not having either one. Even though none of us thought that way at the time.”

“Shit,” Dean said, absorbing. “Still...”

At this point, Cas looked more serious than he had all afternoon. “Dean, the whole thing with pressing charges and everything... The idea of a trial... It made me think of suicide. I thought of it a lot in those days. I just... I couldn't survive it. I _wouldn't_ have survived it.”

Dean had absolutely no idea what to say.

“I know,” Cas said again. “There's no great result no matter what way you look at it. But at least...” He looked up at the sky again, where the faintest glint of a sunray was beginning to peek out from behind that cloud. The cloud showed no signs of moving on yet, but at least there was a little bit of actual light at this point. “At least he's not in my life anymore. And at least I'm—I'm talking about this. It's the tiny steps. Nothing's wrapped up perfectly like we want it to be. We just...” He glanced over at Dean and smiled crookedly. “We work with what we've got, you know?”

Wasn't that the truth? Dean nodded and sighed, thinking of his own situation. How despite everything going on throughout his and Sam's own childhoods, they'd kept going, kept trying, played the hands they'd been dealt. The Christmases when John hadn't really had anything for them; how either one or both of them would try and piece together the holidays themselves anyway. They would do anything from “borrowing” gifts from neighbors, to mowing lawns, to working in the lunchroom at whatever current school they were attending to earn money.

In a strange way, he mused, he wouldn't trade much of the memories he had from when he was a kid. At least not the ones with Sam.

The ones with his father?

Jury was still out on that one. But he had time to decide how he felt about it all.

After a while, Cas and Dean got up from the bench and continued down the side of the lake. There were still some peas left to throw, after all.


	44. Nothing to Forgive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: abuse discussion, mention of SI

It was two weeks later. Cas stood anxiously at the door of his old house, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He could do this. He knew he could.

 _Why am I psyching myself up like this?_ he wondered. It wasn't like it was a huge ordeal, a massive undertaking. He was only going to talk to his mother.

Still, he had some things on his mind he wanted to express, some things that might be hard to say out loud. Things he needed to say. That she needed to hear—really hear.

_Okay. Okay, so—so knock, then._

He did.

Naomi answered with the phone to her ear. “Cas. Hi,” she said. “Hold on.” To the person she was talking to, she added, “Let me call you back, my son just got here.” She turned the phone off. “Come on in.”

There was a pot of coffee on, as always, and she waved her hand toward it as they walked in. “Have a cup,” his mother said. She walked over and poured herself one.

Cas followed, getting his own after she did. Once they both had their coffees, they each took a seat at the dining table. Cas took his usual seat where he could look out the window to his left, while she sat facing the window straight on, diagonally to his right.

He closed his eyes and relished the warmth of the cup in his hands. “Mmmm. I always liked the way you made coffee,” he commented. “I don't know why I can't quite make it the same.”

Naomi smiled softly. “Kind of a mom thing, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Cas, taking a sip.

They sat in silence for a while, the atmosphere for once relaxed and missing the frequent undercurrent of tension. Cas was in no hurry to break the silence and the peace anytime soon. These moments were rare and treasured.

Outside, the rain that had started while Cas was driving over was clearing up. He watched a Labrador across the street poke its head out from a doggy door, then emerge out onto the small porch before bounding out over the lawn in excitement.

“So... So how are things, Castiel?” Naomi asked, setting her cup down.

He turned away from the window. “They're good. They're really good,” he said, resting his elbows on the table and folding his arms loosely. “Dean—Dean sort of proposed.”

She almost knocked her mug over. “That's—Oh, my god! Castiel!” She leaned over and hugged him. “That's amazing! I'm so happy for you!”

Cas hugged back, beaming and blushing. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said as he pulled away. “We, uh, it was a sort of spur of the moment thing, so we don't have rings yet, but we've got them on order for now.”

Naomi quickly lifted her gaze from his hand. “Oh, I wasn't— I wasn't, uh...”

“It's okay.” Cas had to laugh. It was so her to expect him to have the ring already-- although really, almost anyone else would too. It _was_ a unique situation. “Don't worry about it.”

She settled back into her chair, watching him eagerly. “So, hon. Tell me about it.” Her hands clasped the almost-forgotten mug in front of her; more, Cas thought, out of something to do than anything else. “Did he get down on one knee and everything?” Her eyes were sparkling. She was really excited for him.

Cas found himself remembering back to that night and was lost in thought for a moment, smiling, feeling Dean's ring get stuck on his knuckle and hearing their laughter at how perfectly imperfect it all had been. “Not exactly.”

“You're blushing, Cas,” Naomi said softly, beaming. She took a drink of her coffee, fondness all over her face.

“It... Okay.” Cas relaxed back in his chair. “So. We were coming back from a movie...”

-

After he'd told the story and they'd finished laughing, the air grew quiet. Not necessarily in a bad way. That peace from earlier was still hanging around, and it was a comfortable sort of atmosphere.

Naomi stood and made her way to the counter, pouring another cup of coffee. She paused mid-pour, looking back apologetically. “Oh, I'm sorry, I should have asked if you wanted a refill too,” she said, a frown creasing her features.

“It's fine, Mom.” Cas held up his cup. “Not empty yet. And I can get my own.”

“Okay.” She turned back, adding cream and sugar.

Once she'd sat back down, she looked at him for a long moment, cupping her mug on the table in one hand and propping her chin in the other.

“What?” Cas finally asked.

Naomi shook her head. “I—It's nothing. Just...” She sipped. “It's nice to see you like this. You seem really happy today.”

Cas glanced down at the table and traced the pattern on his own coffee cup with a thumb. “Yeah. I am, I guess,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm. He smiled a little. “I mean, I have my days—I'm not—It's good and bad both, usually.” Words were difficult sometimes. “But today I feel all right.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand.

They sat without speaking for a while after that. Cas eventually got up and grabbed a refill, gazing outside again as he drank and took in the view. The dog from earlier was chasing a squirrel toward a tree; the squirrel raced up and along a branch, and the dog barked in frustration at it as the squirrel disappeared into the concealment of the thicker leaves.

“Whatcha watching?” Naomi asked.

“The Henriksens' dog across the street,” Cas said in amusement. “He bark a lot?”

“Eh, he has his moments, but he's not too bad,” she shrugged. “I kinda like him.”

Cas took a sip. “It's a shame they didn't have one when I was growing up. Or that we didn't. Dogs are great.”

A slight shadow crossed Naomi's face. “Yes. I'm—sorry, Castiel.”

This time, the silence that fell was sharper, more uncomfortable and awkward.

Cas knew she wanted to say more. Was trying to say more. She was absently drawing designs on the tabletop with her fingertips the way she did when she was trying to come up with the right words, or when she was trying to stop herself from saying something.

It didn't take a mind-reader to know what she wanted to say, either.

“Mom?” Cas said.

Naomi lifted her head. “Yeah, Cas?” Her eyes were clouded, preoccupied, stressed.

“You know I've never blamed you for any of it, right?”

She sighed so quickly it sounded like a scoff. “Come on, Castiel. That's sweet, but—I'm your _mother_. I had my part.” She shook her head roughly, squeezed her eyes shut. “And what I said, that day... Unforgivable.”

“I _didn't_ blame you,” Cas insisted. “I never have. Not even that day.” He looked out the window again. Talking was easier while he was watching the Henriksens' dog. “I mean... It really came out of _nowhere_ , you know?” He turned back to her. “You were basically in shock. Anyone else would have said similar. I know that.”

Naomi was silent, but Cas got the feeling she was listening. God, he hoped so.

“And I swear, anybody else... If anyone else had been my mother, it would have been the same situation,” Cas went on. “It's just the way things went. He—he knew how to play things. What tricks to pull. He knew when you had to go out of town for work, for one.”

“—Cas—”

“—And he knew how heavy you slept.” Even now, Naomi usually required two different alarms to wake up. One across the room and one on the nightstand. “And, Mom, I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not like you're supernatural or anything. You're human. There was no way you could have known.”

Naomi got up and walked a few paces away, putting her hands against the kitchen sink edge and hanging her head wordlessly.

“Besides, I know you,” Cas said, getting up and following her. “Don't you think he would have been gone _long_ before he was if you'd known?”

“That's my _point_!” she said, lifting her head and spinning to face him. “You're my _child_ , Castiel. I was supposed to protect you!” Tears were already overflowing. “And I failed!”

Cas shook his head. “No, Mom. Not you. _He_ did.”

He was starting to understand the frustration felt that his mother, his therapist, basically anyone who'd ever talked to him about self-blame. How easy it was for people to blame themselves... And how funny it was that people were so eager to clamor for the fault when it really only rested upon one person, after all.

Cas took a deep breath. “Mom. That night, in the apartment? I realized something.” He reached for a napkin and handed it to her, waiting while she brushed at her tears. “I was there, and... And I thought, I didn't want things to end that way, but I also—” He blinked slowly and trailed off as he remembered back. “I didn't want them to _keep_ going that way, either. With me being so attached to the blame and everything.”

Refocusing on the present, he looked at her again. “I don't want you to do the same thing,” he said. “Why are either of us doing this? The only one to hold onto the guilt is him.”

Naomi sniffled and wiped at her eyes again. “I just—”

“I know,” Cas said, smiling sadly. “I wish they'd been able to do something, too. But...” Life was really shitty sometimes in that regard. “All we can do, I guess, is stop giving him so much energy.”

As if in response, her eyes darted to his upper arm, where Cas knew she knew his scars hid under the sleeves of his shirt. She opened her mouth, starting to ask, but then shut her mouth.

Cas glanced down at the fabric covering his arm. “I'm... Not sure yet,” he said, answering her unasked question. “I'm a work in progress for the moment. One step at a time.”

She turned and threw the napkin away, then faced him again. “I love you, Castiel. And I'm sorry. For everything.”

He shook his head. “Mom, you've never had anything to be sorry for. I love you, too.” Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around his mother, and they stood there quietly.


	45. Finale I: Rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: none that I could think of; lmk!
> 
> Home stretch now, folks! <3

_Two weeks later_

Dean hadn't realized he was starting to drift off until he heard the rattle of the key in the lock. He shook his head and yawned, peeking around the side of the armchair in time to see Cas trudging in, looking just as tired as Dean felt but content.

“Hey,” Dean said, lips automatically pulling back into a grin to reflect the happiness he saw in Cas, despite the obvious exhaustion as well. “How were the kids?”

Cas sighed, hanging up his keys on the little hook near the door and setting a bag on the dining table. “Absolute monsters. Mikey had a fit over a show he wanted to watch and the cable was out the whole time, and Katie was pissed because she didn't get to go with Gabriel and Kali to the store. So she kept finding ways to set Mikey off.”

He toed out of his shoes and wandered over to the couch, falling a little too hard into a spot at the end nearest Dean's recliner. Closed his eyes and rubbed them, clearly still annoyed, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

“And Leela?” Dean asked.

“Still teething.” He groaned softly. “She was fussy the whole time I was there and wouldn't let me put her down.”

Dean nudged Cas's foot with his own. “C'mon. Don't tell me you didn't have the time of your life there.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Cas murmured, smile widening, eyes still shut. “Felt amazing to be there even if they did drive me up a wall.”

“Well, I'm glad they have you.” Dean got up and went to the kitchen, retrieving a can of soda and bottle of water before coming back and setting them on the coffee table and taking a seat next to Cas.

He opened his water and thought of the two phone conversations he'd had that afternoon. Sam had been in the middle of studying for his upcoming exams next month, but had been able to take the time to stop for a good long talk. It was nice. Really nice, Dean reflected, staring into space absently, thinking what a waste it had been to not be in contact those previous few years. He'd apologized for taking studying time away from Sam, and then in the same breath teased that it wasn't like his nerd of his brother needed that much time anyway, so he might as well talk as long as he could.

And Sam easily volleyed back with a joke about how Cas must have been busy and Dean was probably lonely, and didn't he have any hobbies he could be picking up like stamp collecting?

It was like there was no time at all taken away from them.

Just like the way Cas was with _his_ family.

“You're quiet,” Cas said now, taking a drink of his soda and setting it back on the coffee table. “Anything wrong?”

Dean exhaled. “No. No, everything's good,” he said, realizing in amazement that it really was.

He returned to his musings.

He'd made a second call this afternoon. One he'd been working up the nerve to, after being inspired by Cas for months. And it occurred to Dean that there were almost audible sounds of silence being broken all around him, broken glass shattering away from overprotective shields.

Cas opening up to him about his issues with depression and everything else. Cas disclosing the abuse after Dean's shitty but well-meaning intervention. Gabriel reaching out to Cas and Cas able to cross that bridge again with his siblings. Sam reaching out after Cas contacted him. Dean and Sam reconnecting. Cas able to talk to his father again.

Now it was time for one more.

“Cas,” Dean said, pointlessly nervous. He knew Cas wouldn't judge him; why was his voice shaking? “I—I called the office where you see Missouri today.”

“Hmm?” Cas sat up and paid attention. “Anything— What's wrong?”

Dean shook his head, fiddled with his hands. “I— Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” He breathed. “But— I made an appointment. For myself, I mean.” Dry mouth. He licked his lips, took a sip of water, tried again. “I dunno, not sure if it'll do anything, but I mean— the nightmares, the fire thing, the st— the stuff with what Dad said, I—” When he went to take another breath, it was frustratingly shaky. _Get it together, Winchester._ Jeez, maybe this was a bigger deal to him than he realized. “I just think it'll help, to talk to someone.”

Cas watched him seriously for a long few moments. “That's big, Dean.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm proud of you.”

Dean looked down at his hands again and nodded his head. He'd been in a few different situations where he'd been afraid. A car accident or two, the bar incident a year ago, to name a few. But this was probably one of the only times he'd been truly terrified for himself.

Cas reached over and squeezed his hand. “You can do it. I know you can.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, lifting his head. He smiled. “The hardest part was making myself schedule it. But, uh, all the same…”

“Want me to go with you? At least to the waiting room?”

Dean flushed, glancing away. “God, this is ridiculous.”

Cas threaded their fingers together. “Nah. Ridiculous is the way you sing AC/DC in the shower when you think I can't hear. This is nothing.”

“You hear that?” He thought the shower drowned it out.

“Dean, you're not exactly quiet.”

Dammit.

They sat together quietly for a few minutes, curled against each other, peaceful and content.

Cas straightened up. Tension lined his features, and Dean frowned. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cas said. “I think. I just— I was thinking of something too. Since we're talking about changes and all.” He took a deep breath. “Gabe— Gabriel and I were talking about him going back to school today, when he got back, and… And I told him I'd like to go back too, finish up.”

Dean's eyes widened. “That'd be great. I— Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You have any idea what you'd go back for?”

“I have no idea—” Cas burst out laughing, looking equally nervous and excited. “Not one clue! I started out majoring in English that first year but felt like I was in over my head. So then I switched to psychology, but I wasn't sure if I like it or not and what I should do—” He was babbling. It was adorable.

Dean just watched him for a moment. “Well, you have time to figure it out. I mean, the fact alone that you're wanting to go back— that's amazing, Cas.”

Cas nodded. “Yeah.” He threw a glance behind him, casting his gaze back to the dining table and the bag he'd left. “Um. So. Guess what else I did when I was out?” he said as he got to his feet.

“Mmm?”

Cas retrieved something from the bag and came back. “Picked up our rings,” he said. His grin was wider now, flashing gums around teeth and wrinkles around his eyes. They'd gone for very simple designs when they'd picked them out, but on the inside of each ring they'd had their respective initials engraved— C on Dean's and D on Cas's.

“So this is it,” Dean said, his pulse picking up as Cas returned to the couch with the two small black cases. “We, uh, we're really doing this.” He grinned goofily right along with Cas; he was excited, thrilled as Cas handed him one and they opened them. Inside were their simple, understated silver rings, not much different than the ring Dean already wore that had been his mother's. “Hey— this is yours,” he said, noticing the _C_ on the inside.

They swapped.

“Just like in the movies, huh?” Cas quipped. “With the smooth lines and rings ready right away and all…”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, screw perfection.”

Now that they had the rings with their own initials on them, they faced each other. “Cas, this year has been one of the best of my life…” Dean began.

“I don't know much about the world, Dean, but what I do know is, I love you, and I love being with you,” Cas said.

“And I'm so glad you saved me that night,” continued Dean. “You changed my life for the better and I can't imagine my life without you now.”

Cas looked at him mischievously for a moment and paused. “…Ditto,” he finally said with a small little laugh. Dean kicked at his feet. “Okay, okay, you're amazing and this year has been wonderful and you're perfect. Happy?”

“Yes.” Dean grinned. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Will you marry me?” Cas's eyes were such a gorgeous blue.

Dean pulled his ring out of the case. “Yes.” And then they were fumbling with their rings, sliding them onto each other's fingers, and thankfully this time it went a _lot_ easier than the mock proposal had gone. “Hey, there it is, we're engaged,” he said, holding his hand up. “You think I'll be able to get this freaking grin off my face at some point?”

“I don't know,” Cas said, staring at his own hand. “Probably around the same time I'll get it off my own face.”

“We're hopeless,” Dean murmured. He glanced at Cas to see him looking back with a similar joyful-silly-delighted expression. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Cas threw his arms around Dean, squeezing tight for a second before pulling back. He shook his head in amusement. Glanced away for a moment. “This is… My face hurts from smiling. I can't believe it.”

“I know, mine too.” Dean felt like such a dork. But he didn't care.

They settled in next to each other, flipping through channels until they found a movie they'd both already seen before but didn't mind rewatching. Dean himself hadn't really done anything that day to warrant being tired enough for a nap, but somehow he found himself starting to nod off anyway.

Maybe it was just being comfortable enough here. Whatever the reason, it was okay. And when he moved his head to check on Cas's face, he could tell he wasn't the only one about to pass out for a bit.

One of the last things Dean was aware of before falling asleep was that he wouldn't have predicted things going this way a little more than a year earlier. Wouldn't have been able to foresee his life becoming somehow domestic like this— not only comfortably living with someone, but fucking _engaged_. And not just that, but having reconnected with his brother. That rift between them bridged, in part because of the circumstances surrounding their father, but also in large part thanks to Cas for being the one to bring them back into each other's lives in the first place.

 _Guess that night at Kell's was luckier than I thought,_ he mused sleepily, not for the first time. And then he was out, comfortable and peaceful.


	46. Finale II: Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: scars cw, flashback involving abuse cw and accidental injury/ thoughts of self-injury, Cas's current thoughts about self-injury

Cas sat out on the balcony, his elbows on his thighs and fingers loosely intertwined as he gazed outside. Below, about a third of the ground view was cut across with a section of a parking lot. He could see his car parked next to the Impala and smiled. Cas was starting to become just as fond of Baby as Dean was.

The rest of the view below was mostly the walkways and grass between the buildings, but the pool was down there, too, centered between the buildings. It was fairly small. Cas had never bothered to swim in it yet—he was too self-conscious, especially with his scars, and with the pool not even being that big, it didn't seem worth the hassle.

But who knew? Summer was coming on again, and it wasn't like he _had_ to take his shirt off to swim. Or swim for long without one. He could test things out at his own pace.

Speaking of his scars... Cas glanced down at his left forearm, the lines in varying degrees of visibility scattered along from his wrist to elbow. It had been two and a half weeks or so since he'd self-injured; the last time was at the beginning of the month, after he'd gotten home from a stressful day at work and needed an outlet. So he'd cut his thigh again, much more carefully than the last time he'd injured that leg. Not the most healthy way to cope, but one he was entirely too accustomed to using.

 _If I really want to recover, though..._ He tapped his fingertips against the small side table they'd dragged outside, listening to the soft repetitive pattering rhythm.

It was difficult, because he didn't want to simply quit self-harming out of the blue. It was something that was ...basically part of him, something that had been in his life for so many years. Since he was 12 and had been hanging out at his friend Jimmy's house.

Cas couldn't help but get a little contemplative as he remembered back. It had been a couple days after... after an Incident with his stepfather, and he found it difficult to fake normalcy. Jimmy believed him when he said he was in a bad mood because of a failed grade on a test, though, and let him be moody all afternoon. _God, he was a good person._ Cas had missed him when his family had moved a few years later.

_It was December. Christmas was coming up, and Cas had helped wrap presents for the family. As Jimmy and his mother were putting the presents away, Cas had volunteered to put everything else away. He'd already thrown the scraps of wrapping paper out and gone to pick up the scissors when a sense of unbearable anger and frustration tore over him._

_How come this couldn't be the way things were at his house?_

_He'd seen the way his friend's parents were. Sure, Cas couldn't be absolutely positive Jimmy's dad was a good guy, and the cynic growing within told him that there was every possibility that Mr. Novak was exactly as terrible as Cas's stepfather was, but still—he saw, he_ sensed _, a difference in the way Jimmy's father was (both in the house with a few people and in public), and in the persona Metatron put out for others. Even when he really, really tried to be personable and congenial._

_There was some subtle difference in the two men. Something most people couldn't pick up on, but Cas could._

_The fact that this was his life, that he was this unwholesome person so unlike Jimmy and his family, made him want to clench his fists and scream or something._

_And then there was this pain that rang out over his thoughts and called attention to itself for a moment. And Cas looked down to realize he'd grabbed the scissors at the wrong angle, had held too hard, had bit them into his palm._

_That first time was an accident. But the next time hadn't been._

A glint of color caught his eye, bringing him back to the present. Orange car, black stripe down the middle. He watched one of his neighbors pull into the parking lot and get out, beginning to unload grocery bags and carry them awkwardly, obviously trying to get everything in one trip. She happened to look up and saw him sitting outside. “Hey, Castiel!”

He smiled and lifted his hand. “Hi, Ruby. You should get one of those folding carts.”

“Right, because I'll be able to get it up the stairs so easy,” she smirked, heading for her building. Her tone wasn't standoff or hostile though. “And while I'm at it, I might as well get a bingo bag and daubers, too.”

Cas shook his head and watched Ruby approach her building, her steps increasing and pace quickening as she got closer and more anxious to get inside. Clearly the bags were weighing down and the handles were stretching thin. Cas wouldn't be surprised if he saw her with a folding cart in a few months anyway. Even with the stairs, a lot of people here caved in and got them due to convenience.

He was glad for the little interruption in his thoughts. It was hard to think about those days for too long at times, Cas felt. Part of him thought that even if he could go back and change everything, would he be that willing to do it? What if he wouldn't be the same person he was now?

He chewed his lip thoughtfully and then stopped after a moment, wryly realizing what he was doing.

All these changes... And Dean even making an appointment for therapy... Maybe he should make an effort to try, too, Cas thought. He brushed his thumb over one of the thicker scars as he considered. He wasn't sure. He didn't have to—not quite yet. But it was a possibility at some point.

That in and of itself—the idea that he was even _considering_ quitting eventually? It felt huge.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, staring out at the view again. Because of where their apartment faced, there was never a perfect view of the sunset. And he'd seen more dramatic sunsets in his life.

But although the sun itself wasn't visible at this angle, the washes of color streaking across the sky sure were, and he'd spent more than a few evenings out here reading and pausing to drink in the simple beauty. Sometimes with Dean.

Today, though, tonight? It wasn't quite as vibrant as other nights had been. A change in the clouds, or too early timing, or just random luck. But that was okay. The gentle, softly fading-in pastels had a wonder all their own. They were perfect as they were. If you knew where to look, you could see the faintest streaks of pink and red shyly whispering up and teasing into yellows, which hinted at a blue so pale it could almost be white.

The whole thing reminded him of a pad of paper his mother used to have when he was younger; the pages dyed like a washed-out rainbow and so light they were only barely enough to brighten up the writing, but not enough to obscure any of it.

He sighed.

Maybe, like the sunset, he could just take things as they were. Take each situation as it happened.

Like with the other night, when he'd had the razor, sitting in the bathroom alone, thinking. Granted, it was a unique situation. He hadn't really had that _need_ , that desperate compulsion under his skin, the way it so often was.

But nevertheless he had, in a way, wanted it. Wanted the oh-so-familiar sensation of sharpness over skin, pain he simultaneously ignored and endured and craved because this was something so reliable in his life he was used to.

And whether it was the less intense urge or not, the face remained that he _had_ been able to resist. To throw the blade away. To go back to bed with skin still intact.

Going cold turkey was an impossible task that was completely out of the question. He didn't like the idea as a concept and didn't even _want_ to quit. But taking each situation and each trigger on its own, as it happened, and deciding from there?

Yeah, Cas thought, that he could handle. That he could do.


	47. Finale III: Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: food cw, discussion of alcohol and SI

Dean woke up content, comfortable. Or at least he was until he realized two things: one, Cas was gone, and two, he really had to pee.

After he'd dealt with that second issue, he set about figuring out where Cas was. “Cas?” he called out, uncertain until he caught sight of his boyfriend sitting out on the balcony. “Oh. Never mind, sorry. Just wonderin' where you went.”

He figured he'd get something started for dinner.

The whole time Dean was simmering pasta sauce and meat, and stirring the noodles, Cas remained outside. Dean wasn't making a deliberate effort to check on him or anything, but when he turned from the stove to use the other counter's space or to get water, he ducked his head to see through the space in the kitchen-living room wall, curious if Cas was coming in yet.

But he stayed out there whole time Dean was making spaghetti.

Cas did that sometimes, sat out there to read and watch the sun go down. It was so _him_ that it made Dean smile. More than once he'd stuck his phone out the doors and gotten a picture of Cas lost in thought, watching the sky, or else completely engrossed in a book, and Cas had never noticed until Dean showed him the photo later on.

Of course, Cas often returned the favor and often got Dean in the kitchen, or when he was distractedly singing as he drove. Unlike Dean, he didn't bother to delete the ones with bad angles or awkward facial expressions, and delighted in showing those ones to Dean later too.

Sam, on the other hand, was starting to get in on the act whenever he was over. They'd caught him a couple times, but he'd still managed to get a bunch of pictures of the two of them together. Giving each other embarrassing-in-public cutesy faces, teasing each other about whatever, looking at each other affectionately like nobody else was in the room. He'd tried to catch Dean in line at a gift shop once, buying Cas a little stuffed bee keychain, but Dean had glanced around to make sure Cas wasn't around and seen Sam with his phone up and given Sam the finger.

Dean found himself smiling at the memory as he mixed the sauce together with the ground beef.

As he started washing some of the dishes he'd used, just to get them out of the way, he thought again of an idea he'd had. About drinking. About drinking a little less. God, he felt weird. How to bring it up to Cas?

But then again, Dean realized, he'd already brought up the thing about calling and making an appointment with a psychologist. What the hell? Why not come completely clean?

_Heh. “Clean.”_

Not that he thought he could _entirely_ go that route, anyway. But he could at least try.

Either way, being this uncertain about saying anything was kind of ridiculous. It wasn't like Cas was going to judge him for it. And yet, here he was, somehow nervous.

The balcony doors slid open just as Dean was turning off the water.

He peeked his head through the hole in the wall. “You have the worst timing,” Dean said, nodding toward the dish drainer.

“Or the best,” Cas retorted with a smirk. “Smells good.”

“Hey, this is all for me. I'm the Little Red Hen in here. No work, no enjoy.” Dean stood at the kitchen entrance, holding his arms out and playfully blocking Cas from walking in.

Cas leaned against Dean's right arm, but Dean knew what Cas was going to do. Sure enough, as Dean reinforced his hold with his right arm, Cas took advantage and went for the left—but Dean had underestimated him. Rather than _actually_ go that way, which Dean had anticipated and was using his left arm to block the entrance, Cas had feigned and returned to his right side, breaking Dean's obstruction and getting into the kitchen easily.

“You ass,” Dean laughed. “Sneaky little...”

“Does that count as work?” Cas quipped, already grabbing a plate and filling it.

-

They ate for a while before they spoke.

“So, um, I saw my mom a couple weeks ago,” Cas said. “I needed to. I wanted to tell her I didn't blame her for—for any of it.”

Dean took a sip of his water, watching Cas. “Mmm? How'd she take it?”

Cas sighed. “She cried. I felt bad. I don't know if she believed me. I'm gonna keep trying. But—I really don't. I want her to believe that. It was really bad circumstances, and I know she did her best. But it wasn't her fault.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He looked down, twisting his fork around some strands of spaghetti without lifting it to take a bite.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked. “You seem... I don't know. Quiet.”

“I'm fine. Just—Yeah, I—I was, I was...” Dean stopped, apparently unsure how to word his next thought.

Cas reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Well. Anytime you're ready. I'm here.” Quiet fell, but this time it felt a little thicker; Cas was curious to find out what was on Dean's mind. He looked at his boyfriend gently, hoping Dean understood that no matter what, he would listen.

Well. Unless Dean was singing in the shower again. Then Cas didn't want to be anywhere nearby when he was belting it out, enthusiastic and slightly off-key.

He wanted to laugh, but it clearly wasn't the time. He'd tell Dean the joke later.

There was still no indication that Dean was ready to speak; he was continuing to pick at his food. So Cas pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “I'm going to get another garlic stick,” he said. “Want anything?”

“Yeah, grab me one,” Dean called behind him. “And actually, could you get me another bottle of water?”

“Sure.”

Cas had refilled his own glass of soda and snagged the breadsticks and a bottle of water, and was about halfway back to his chair when he stopped and frowned in confusion, glancing down at the bottle tucked into his elbow. “Dean?”

He turned around in his chair. “Yeah?”

“Since when do you prefer water?” It struck Cas then that he'd noticed Dean drinking water slightly more and more the last week or so, instead of beer or any other alcohol. “You've been doing that lately, huh?” He set down his glass, and then the garlic breadsticks, one on his plate and one on Dean's. The bottle was last.

Dean cleared his throat. “That's—uh, yeah. That's actually the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

Oh, no way. “Dean?” Cas raised his eyebrows. “You're... You're not thinking of...”

“No, not quite. Or at least—I'm not sure yet.” Dean broke the garlic stick in half and dipped it into the pasta sauce on his plate while Cas continued to eat his own spaghetti. Finally, he spoke. “I don't think I can completely stop drinking,” Dean said. He took a bite. “I'm not s—It just—it might be a good idea to slow down, you know?”

Cas watched him.

“I mean, I've never really had a _serious_ problem with it,” Dean went on, taking a sip of water and then staring at the small label on the bottle. “But I don't—I'm not sure. It could be. At some point.” He exhaled. “And I don't want it to be.”

The only sound for a few seconds was the air-conditioning while Cas pondered his next words. He had a feeling that Dean wasn't as scared of _saying_ this as he was about the subject matter in and of itself. They hadn't talked about as much in depth of what went on with Dean and Sam's past as they had Cas's, but there was enough discussed that Cas had an all-too-clear picture of a typical afternoon in the Winchester household when they were growing up.

He remembered, now, walking in that day to find the letter from Gabriel. The spot on the carpet before Dean had shown him the letter. The smell of beer. Cas had realized later, without being told, that Dean had thrown a bunch of bottles against the wall. Something he had inadvertently copied from his father—the difference being he was deliberately doing it by himself, away from others he might hit. And he wasn't drunk. Drinking. But not drunk.

He almost could see where Dean would worry about how long he could walk that path of having a drink all the time. So far, he hadn't seen trouble spots. But that didn't really mean that none existed, or _could_ exist.

The fact that Dean was thinking about it was incredible growth that awed and stunned Cas.

“For what it's worth,” he began, reaching forward to twine his hand with Dean's, “I think you can do anything. I mean, you've already made an appointment. That's a _huge_ step already too.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled uncomfortably. “I—I don't know if I can, can stop right away or, whatever—But drinking less beer, more water or soda or juice, small steps, you know? Cutting down for the time being.”

Cas couldn't keep himself from laughing.

Dean looked incredibly offended. “What? I _can_!”

“No!” Cas waved his free hand, shaking his head, looking down for a second before calming himself enough to speak. “It's—it's—Sorry. It's just that—We're on similar lines here.” At Dean's confused expression, he motioned to himself. “Me. My... my thing. I was thinking the same thing about my self-injury.”

“ _Ohhh..._ ”

“Yeah.” Cas threw a glance at his scars. “I can't see myself letting go completely right now, but I was thinking of just... Sort of decreasing. Having more of those incidents like the other night, where I decided I didn't have to.”

Dean nodded, squeezing Cas's hand. “I could live with that.”

“And I could live with not having to stop one hundred percent.” Cas took a deep breath. “For now, anyway. I don't know what the future holds. All I can worry about is where I am right now.”

A quiet smile spread across Dean's face. “Yeah. Same here.” He rubbed a thumb over Cas's ring. “So, you were out there a while, when I was making dinner. How was the sunset tonight?”

Cas shrugged. “Not much tonight. Subdued. But it was still nice.” He turned to look over his shoulder toward the balcony door, remembering again how muted the colors had been, and how they'd been no less lovely for it.

Muted. But worthy. Not forgotten, not unloved.

He smiled quietly, turning back.

“Hey,” Dean murmured affectionately. “You got quiet a little bit there. Whatcha thinkin'?”

Cas gazed back at him. “That's just it,” he said. “I'm glad I'm _not_ quiet anymore.”


	48. Final notes & acknowledgments

This story has been such a massive part of my life for well over a year. I'd work on it, something would happen (writer's block, computer failure, executive dysfunction, depression, procrastination), and then it would sit for a while. I actually wanted to do this for last year's DCBB, but wound up dropping out before drafts were due because of all those ^ parenthetical issues. Which _still proceeded to occur_ , because I have bad luck and even worse motivation :p All told, it has taken about twenty months to go from an idea I had when I had the stomach flu and could only be all miserable on the couch—to being a finished story (mostly?) and posted. It also took two separate computers and you-don't-even-want-to-knooowww how much whining *laughs*

  


**Acknowledgments**

First, thank you to my wonderful artist Deancebra for her gorgeous art and her patience with me (also my long, rambly, babbly emails because I can never SUMMARIZE or GET TO THE POINT no matter how hard I try!). You rock so much and I am so honored to have been able to work with you <3 <3

Also thank you x a million to NRH, JMC, and CLL for being amazing friends who put up with my fangirling/ rambling, and who generously read my stuff despite not being in the fandom. Special shout-out to NRH and also DMM for beta-ing. And DMM, I'm sorry for dropping that one part, but I still love you to the moon and back [which coincidentally is playing as I type this!]. You're the best!

People who deserve special shout-outs for listening to me babble on about this endlessly and who deserve Great Days and happy feelings and argh all that awesome shit: C and R from work, SS from V, G, SJS, and various other family members. And of course, SH, last but never never least. (I'm not even sure if anybody will see this, but I wanted it in here just in case!) If there's anyone I forgot, I'm sorry, I love you all <3 <3

  


**Notes**

CW: abuse

Charlie says at one point that it's hard to find information about male sexual abuse survivors. She's not wrong. I did a ton of research for this story, and I'm in the _current_ year. Even now, it's extremely difficult to find information geared toward men. Let alone when this was set.

If you've been abused, I want you to know, _you're not alone_ , and _it's not your fault_. This story grew out of a desire for me to talk about abuse, as it came from a very personal standpoint of mine, but—as someone who is assigned female at birth (I'm agender, but that's not the point)—I quickly realized there is a lot I don't know, and cannot know, from the perspective I was trying to write from. I'm sure I've gotten a lot wrong, and I apologize for that. Our society also has this irritating tendency, particular in media, to make light of abuse when it happens to men, or to downplay or ignore it.

You aren't alone. And a lot of people care.

I also wanted to say that when Cas did speak up, circumstances were sadly shitty enough that nothing could really be done legally in regards to his abuse. This, unfortunately, comes from firsthand personal experience as well. And it isn't a rare phenomenon.

If this has happened to you, please hold space for yourself. Please take care of yourself. (Or if it happened to someone you know-- same thing, hold space and take care and have a lot of love. For them, and for yourself both.) Our society isn't always fair, and shit happens and it's fucking frustrating and hard as hell to deal with.

If this is the case... If this is what's happened, and there's nothing left to be able to be done? I have found that what matters, in the end, is not the minutiae of what happened legally, or what happened with the abuser. At the end of the day I'm still here with myself. Not with the person. They are not around physically, and I have too much energy and anxiety and spoons and frustration and feelings to spend extra on keeping that person in my head when there's all this Other Shit happening in my life currently.

That sounds so simple, doesn't it? It's strange. It's taken me well over ten years to get to this point, and I don't know if I got here faster or slower than average—I feel like at some point, I just started walking away from it. I don't know how. If I had a map, I'd be photocopying it for everyone possible. But I can't tell everyone what works as a one-size-fits-all situation. What worked for some people never fit for me; what worked, eventually, for me, may not work for others. Everybody's different and shit is so complicated. As complicated as life itself is. (And needless to say, self-injury isn't recommended, btw.)

I _do_ know that telling my own particular story at the time, eventually, helped, once I was telling it for myself. Taking it out of the shadows and cobwebs, dusting it off, letting the sun blow the dark away and kill its shadows.

And (years and years, and years and years, and years and years, later), somehow realizing I had forgotten to continue carrying around the self-blame like a key to a house that I no longer lived in. I remind myself of this feeling every now and then because it just feels so strange and weird—and _good_.

But there was no way I could have seen this when I was nineteen.

And yet. Here I am.

Somehow.

I guess that's why I wrote this. I wanted people to know a part of a story important to me, and way more importantly, to know _you're not alone_. There is help, there are resources, there are people who care, and (though you may never believe it at first), you do have the capacity to heal and recover, and to --somehow-- lose track of that self-blame as well.  <3

Love you.

♥♥♥♥

Cally

A few pieces of info:

[http://www.malesurvivor.org](http://www.malesurvivor.org/)

<http://www.ascasupport.org/>

<http://sasian.org/characteristics-observed-in-male-sexual-abuse-victims/>

<http://www.couplescounselingchicago.net/6-common-behaviors-sexually-abused-males/>

<http://1in6.org/get-information/the-1-in-6-statistic/>

<http://www.thehealingplace.info/adult-survivors-of-childhood-sexual-abuse/>

<http://www.havoca.org/>

<http://www.psychotherapist.net/adultsurvivors.html>

<https://www.stsm.org/get-information/about-sexual-assault/adult-survivors-childhood-sexual-abuse>

  


**Further Story Notes**

I do plan to write a sequel! But... I mean, come on, if this thing took me 20 months, how long do you think a damn sequel will take? :/ *laughing again* (No, seriously, I hope it will be a lot quicker this next time. I'm not gonna write it puzzle-style this time around! There will be actual outlines and shit! Whoo-hoo!)

I also do realize I focused moreso on Cas than Dean here. I did want to correct this, but I just damn ran out of time/ focus/ spoons. That _is_ something I want to work on in the sequel.


End file.
